“What nonsense!” said Miss Poll rather sharply, “I sing perfectly well in a coat.”
Then William had an idea. He remembered an incident which had taken place about a month ago which had completely mystified him at the time, but which he had stored up for possible future use. Ethel had come home from a garden party in a state bordering on hysterics and had passionately destroyed a perfectly good hat which she had been wearing. The reason she gave for this extraordinary behaviour had been that Miss Weston had been wearing a hat exactly like it at the garden party (“exactly like it ... I could have killed her and myself,” Ethel had said hysterically). The reason had seemed to William wholly inadequate. He met boys every day of his life wearing headgear which was exactly identical with his and the sight failed to rouse him to hysterical fury. It was one of the many mysteries in which the behaviour of grown-up sisters was shrouded—not to be understood but possible to be utilised. Now he looked Miss Poll up and down and said ruminatingly, “Funny!”
“What’s funny?” said Miss Poll sharply.
“Oh, nothin’,” said William apologetically, knowing full well that Miss Poll would now know no peace till she’d discovered the reason for his ejaculation and steady contemplation of her.
“Nonsense!” she said sharply, “you wouldn’t say ‘funny’ like that unless there was some reason for it, I suppose. If I’ve got a smut on my nose or my hat’s on crooked say so and don’t stand there looking at me.”
William’s steady gaze was evidently getting upon Miss Poll’s nerves.
“Nothin’,” said William again vaguely, “only I’ve just remembered somethin’.”
“What have you remembered?” snapped Miss Poll.
“Nothin’ much,” said William, “only I’ve jus’ remembered that I saw someone at the Fête jus’ before I came out to you, in a coat exactly like that one what you’ve got on.”
There was a long silence, and finally Miss Poll said: “It is a little hot, dear. You were quite right. If you would be so kind as to carry my coat——”