A few moments passed before the answer came. Then Maya heard a thin, chirping voice rise out of the hole.
“For goodness’ sake, do close the door up there. It’s raining in.”
The beetle obeyed. He stood in an expectant attitude, his head cocked a little to one side, and squinted through the crack.
“Please hurry,” he grumbled.
Maya was tense with eagerness to see what sort of a creature would come out of the hole. She crept so far out on the edge of the blossom that a drop of rain fell on her shoulder, and gave her a start. She wiped herself dry.
Below her the withered leaf heaved; a brown insect crept out, slowly. Maya thought it was the queerest specimen she had ever seen. It had a plump body, set on extremely thin, slow-moving legs, and a fearfully thick head, with little upright feelers. It looked flustered.
“Good morning, Effie dear.” The beetle went slim with politeness. He was all politeness, and his body seemed really slim. “How did you sleep? How did you sleep, my precious—my all?”
Effie took his hand rather stonily.
“It can’t be, Bobbie,” she said. “I can’t go with you. We’re creating too much talk.”
Poor Bobbie looked quite alarmed.