"Why, of course," said Harold. "So he does."
And he asked Ann to play something on the piano. And pretty soon we had settled down to a regular jolly musical evening. Ann must have played a matter of two or three thousand tunes, when Harold got up.
"By the way," he said. "I suppose he did what I told him about the picture before he went out. Let's go and see."
"Oh, Harold, what does it matter?" asked Hilda.
"Don't be silly, Harold," said Ann.
I would have said the same thing, only I couldn't say anything.
Harold wasn't to be stopped. He led the way out of the room and upstairs, and we all trailed after him. We had just reached the top floor, when Hilda stopped, and said "Hark!"
It was a voice.
"Hi!" it said. "Hi!"
Harold legged it to the door of the studio. "Ponsonby?"