“I can’t be there at four. Make it five.”
“What a very arbitrary beetle man! Well, as I’ve wasted so much of your time to-day, I’ll accept your orders for to-morrow.”
“And please impress your father with the extreme advisability of your getting off this island.”
“Yes, sir,” she said meekly. “You’ll be most awfully glad to get rid of us, won’t you?”
“Very greatly relieved.”
“And a little bit sorry?”
The begoggled face turned toward her. There was a perceptible tensity in the line of the jaw. But the beetle man made no answer.
“Now, if I could see behind those glasses,” said Miss Polly Brewster to her wicked little self, “I’d probably bite myself rather than say it again. Just the same—And a little bit sorry?” she persisted aloud.
“Does that matter?” said the man quietly.
Miss Polly Brewster forthwith bit herself on her pink and wayward tongue.