“Me? I don’t go to late or early. I stay at home and think it over,” said Sybil.
“Think what over?” I asked. “The service?”
“Services in general, religion in its cause and effect—life altogether, in fact,” summed up Sybil. “Will you two let me join you in your walk this afternoon, or shall I be in the way?” We both protested we should be delighted to have her; and at four o’clock we were assembled down-stairs in her boudoir, ready to start, when a loud ring sounded at the door.
“Good gracious!” screamed Sybil; and she dropped into a chair, the picture of astonishment and vexation. “I’ll bet any mortal thing you like that that is Mr. Halsted! Was there ever anything so provoking! I so wanted to have a walk with you!”
“Why need his coming prevent you?” I said. “The doctor and Mrs. Segrave are at home, are they not?”
“Why, Lilly, how can you talk so!” she exclaimed. “What does that matter to Mr. Halsted? He comes to see me!”
“Then you throw us overboard?” I said. “That’s complimentary. What do you say, Millicent?”
Millicent laughed. She was not sorry at heart, I could see, that we were to be left to a tête-à-tête. Perhaps Sybil saw it, too, for she said, starting up suddenly:
“I won’t throw you overboard. Let him call again. Let him come with us, if he likes. Have you two any objection?”
Millicent said she had none. I, however, demurred.