And "fly" she did, as literally as she could, but in the wrong direction. As the last whisk of her skirts was heard in the direction of Mr. Rutherford's study den, that wily gentleman emerged from a door on the opposite side of the library.
"Well?" he demanded anxiously. "Don't keep me on thorns. Have you made it all right with her?"
"I have," replied Mr. Plowden.
"You don't mean to say she swallowed it all!"
Plowden nodded.
"And didn't even drop on the weak point in the story—that when I was supposed to be placing in school your little girl, aged six years, I was not much older myself?"
"No."
The two gentlemen exchanged a smile; then the elder, becoming serious, said:
"But of course you will keep faith with me, Rutherford, and as soon as you obtain your telegraphic release you will tell her the whole truth, whatever that may be?"
"Yes; but I can't get that, you know, until the day after Christmas. I had to wire to my client's business address, so it was too late to connect to-day. To-morrow is a holiday. It will be the day after before I can hear."