I ran out to the landing, but as I did so Aunt Olivia came
out of her room, brushed past me, and flitted downstairs.
"Mr. MacPherson," I heard her say with double-distilled primness,
"will you please come into the parlour? I have something
to say to you."
They went in, and I returned to the south-west room.
"Peg, there's trouble brewing," I said. "I'm sure of it by
Aunt Olivia's face, it was GRAY. And she has gone down ALONE--
and shut the door."
"I am going to hear what she says to him," said Peggy resolutely.
"It is her own fault--she has spoiled us by always
insisting that we should be present at their interviews.
That poor man has had to do his courting under our very eyes.
Come on, Mary."
The south-west room was directly over the parlour and
there was an open stovepipe-hole leading up therefrom.
Peggy removed the hat box that was on it, and we both deliberately
and shamelessly crouched down and listened with all our might.
It was easy enough to hear what Mr. Malcolm MacPherson was saying.
"I've come up to get the date settled, Nillie, as I told you.
Come now, little woman, name the day."
SMACK!
"Don't, Mr. MacPherson," said Aunt Olivia. She spoke as a woman
who has keyed herself up to the doing of some very distasteful
task and is anxious to have it over and done with as soon
as possible.
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