“Oh, how lovely! Tell me who she is! I’m dying to shoot a spy.”
Marie Louise sickened at the bloodthirstiness of Polly the insouciante.
Mrs. Prothero tried to put down the riot of interest by saying:
“Oh, it’s nothing. Lady Clifton-Wyatt is just joking.”
Lady Clifton-Wyatt was at bay. She shot a glance at Marie Louise and insisted:
“Indeed I’m not! I tell you she is a spy.”
“Who’s a spy?” Polly demanded.
“Miss Webling,” said Lady Clifton-Wyatt.
Polly began to giggle; then she frowned with disappointment.