“Well, I mustn’t keep the poor dears waiting,” said Miss Poll brightly. “I’ll be ready in a second I’ve only to put my hat on.”
Then Miss Poll underwent a short inward struggle which William watched breathlessly. Would she keep on the black coat or would she change it for another? Wild plans floated through William’s head. He’d say would she please go in something black because the Vicar had died quite suddenly that morning or—or the Member had just been murdered or something like that.... It was obvious that Miss Poll was torn between the joy of wearing a coat in which she considered herself to look “smarter” than in anything else she possessed and the impropriety of wearing for a festal occasion a garment borrowed for the obsequies of the very removed cousin. To William’s relief the coat won the day and after buttoning up the collar to give it an even smarter appearance than it had before and putting on a smart hat with a very red feather, she joined them at the door.
“Now I’m ready, children,” she said, at which William scowled ferociously and Henry winced, “they didn’t say which of my repertoire” (Miss Poll pronounced it reppertwaw) “I was to bring with me, did they?”
And again William said “no” with a face devoid of expression and with perfect truth. And Henry said “No,” too.
“As it’s such short notice,” she went on, “they really can’t expect anything in the way of—well, of make-up or dress, can they?”
William said that they couldn’t and Henry, being nudged again by William, confirmed the opinion....
“Though I wish you children could see me in my charwoman skit. I’m an artist in make-up.... Now, can you imagine me looking really old and ugly?”
Henry quite innocently said “Yes,” and on being nudged by William, changed it to “yes, please.” Miss Poll looked at Henry as if she quite definitely disliked him and turned her attentions to William.
“You know, dear ... I can make myself to look really old. You’d never believe it, would you? Now guess how old I am, really?”
Henry, not wishing to be left out of it, said with perfect good faith, “fifty” and William, with a vague idea of being tactful, said “forty.” Miss Poll who looked, as a matter of fact, about forty-five, laughed shrilly.