"It isn't them, it is just him. I've discovered one under the bed, but the other has disappeared, gone, skedaddled. Do rummage around and find it for me, won't you? I think it's down-stairs—"
"My dear child," her brother began in mild exasperation, "how can it be down-stairs—"
The door of Myra Nell's room burst open suddenly, and a very animated face peered around the edge at him.
"Because I left it there, purposely. I kicked it off—it hurt. At least
I think I did, although I'm not sure. I kicked it off somewhere."
Miss Warren's words had a way of rushing forth head over heels, in a glad, frolicky manner which was most delightful, although somewhat damaging to grammar. But she was too enthusiastic to waste time on grammar; life forever pressed her too closely to allow repose of thought, of action, or of speech.
"Now, don't get huffy, honey," she ran on. "If you only knew how I've—
Oh, goody! you're going out!"
"I was going out, but of course—"
"Now don't be silly. He isn't coming to see you."
Bernie exclaimed in a shocked voice:
"Myra Nell! You know I never leave you to entertain your callers alone.
It isn't proper."