William, his face devoid of any expression whatever, repeated monotonously as though it were a lesson:
“G’afternoon, Miss Poll, please will you come to the Fête to give an entertainment.”
Miss Poll went rather red and for one terrible minute William thought that she was going to attack him as the maid had done—but the moment passed. Miss Poll was simpering coyly.
“You—you’ve been sent on a message, I suppose, little boy?” then, relieving William’s conscience of the difficult task of answering this question, she went on, “I thought there must be some mistake.... Of course,” she simpered again, then pouted, “really I’d be quite within my rights to refuse to go. It’s most discourteous of them to send for me like this at such short notice but,” she gave a triumphant little giggle, “I knew that really they couldn’t get on without me. They didn’t send a note by you, I suppose?”
“No,” said William quite truthfully.
She pouted again.
“Well, that I think is rather rude, don’t you? However,” the pout merged again into the simper, “I wouldn’t be so cruel as to punish them for that by staying away. I knew they’d want me in the end. But these things are always so shamefully organised, don’t you think so?”
William cleared his throat and said that he did. Henry, in response to a violent nudge from William, cleared his throat and said that he did too. Miss Poll encouraged by their sympathy, warmed to her subject.
“Instead of writing to engage me months ago they send a message like this at the last minute.... What would they have done if I’d been out?”
Again William said he didn’t know and again Henry, in response to a nudge from William, said he didn’t know either.