"I'll just _die_ if you
say we are not!"
Phil stood by, too shamefaced to plead for himself, yet fearful that
she might take Elsie and leave him to his fate, because he had refused
to apologise for his rude speech.
Miss Patricia had been spending the day with Mrs. Driggs, who was an
old friend of hers, and who was now about to take her home in her
carriage. Mrs. Driggs seemed to understand the situation at a glance.
"Come on," she said. "We'll put the children in here with us; the
monkey and the rest of the gypsy outfit can go up with the coachman.
Here, Sam, take this little beast on the seat with you, and lift up
the barrow, too."
If those children were half as glad to sink down on the comfortable
cushions as I was to snuggle under the coachman's warm lap-robe, then
I am sure that Mrs. Driggs's elegant carriage never held three more
grateful hearts. As we climbed to our places I heard Mrs. Driggs say,
kindly: "So the little ones were masquerading, were they? It is a cold
day for such sport."
Miss Patricia answered, in a voice that trembled with displeasure:
"Really, Caroline, I am more deeply mortified than I can say, to think
that any one bearing my name--the proud, unsullied name of
Tremont--could go parading the streets, in the garb of a beggar,
asking for alms. I cannot trust myself to speak of it calmly."
All the way home I felt sorry for Phil.
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