"
"Let me finish the story," said Mr. Beebe, who had returned.
"Miss Lavish tried Miss Pole, myself, every one, and finally
said: 'I shall go alone.' She went. At the end of five minutes
she returned unobtrusively with a green baize board, and began
playing patience."
"Whatever happened?" cried Lucy.
"No one knows. No one will ever know. Miss Lavish will never dare
to tell, and Mr. Emerson does not think it worth telling."
"Mr. Beebe--old Mr. Emerson, is he nice or not nice? I do so want
to know."
Mr. Beebe laughed and suggested that she should settle the
question for herself.
"No; but it is so difficult. Sometimes he is so silly, and then I
do not mind him. Miss Alan, what do you think? Is he nice?"
The little old lady shook her head, and sighed disapprovingly.
Mr. Beebe, whom the conversation amused, stirred her up by
saying:
"I consider that you are bound to class him as nice, Miss Alan,
after that business of the violets."
"Violets? Oh, dear! Who told you about the violets? How do things
get round? A pension is a bad place for gossips.
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