'I have satisfied her,' said Rollo, dryly. 'But there is a little left for you. There wouldn't have been if the two bears had known where it was.'
'Mr. Falkirk was fearfully growly this morning,' said Wych Hazel. 'And every time he growled Gotham grumbled. So I had a fusillade. Where is your fruit, Byo?'
'There was none brought in yesterday, Miss Wych, I'm sorry to say.'
'None at all in the house?'
'There's a basket in your room, my dear; but of course'—
'Not "of course" at all,' said the girl, jumping up to go for it. 'You know that is a sort of fruit I never eat.'
Which might have left it doubtful what sort she did eat,—the basket contained so many, in such splendid variety. Hazel sat down in her place and began to pile up the beauties in a majolica dish.
'Aren't you going to give me some?' said Rollo, looking on.
The answer tarried while Hazel's little fingers dived down after peaches and plums of extra size with which to crown her dish; but so doing, they suddenly brought up a white note, suspiciously sealed with red wax. The girl dropped it, as if it had been a wasp; and hastily setting the basket down on the floor, pushed the unfinished dish to a position before Mr. Rollo.
'There!' she said, 'will that do?'