"Miss Pelham! Miss Margaret Pelham!" shouted Tom, before Peggy could go any further.
"Pelham!" cried Tilly, in a dazed way.
"Pelham!" repeated Will.
"Yes, Pelham! Pelham!" exclaimed Tom, exultantly, flinging up his cap with a chuckle of delighted laughter.
"And you're not—you're not the daughter of that dreadful Smithson?" burst forth Tilly, in a little transport of happy relief.
"'That dreadful Smithson'? Who is he, and who said I was his daughter?"
"She said it," roared Will, darting a furious look at Agnes; "and she cooked it all up out of this," suddenly pulling the paper from his pocket.
"Give it to me!" cried Agnes, breathlessly, springing forward to snatch the paper from his hand.
"No, no, you wanted me to give it to Miss Smith a minute ago, and now I'll give it to—Miss Pelham, and let her see what you've wanted to circulate about the house," answered Will.