And they waited, without result,
until the clock struck nine. The artificial strength within them had
cooled by that time, their ardour had cooled, and they were feeling
chill and tired. Susan Peckaby was upon thorns, she said, and urged
their departure.
"_You_ can go if you like," was the answer. "Nobody wants to keep you."
Susan Peckaby measured the distance between the pond and the way she had
to go, and came to the determination to risk it.
"I'll make a rush for it, I think," said she. "I sha'n't see nothing.
For all I know, that quadruple may be right afore our door now. If
he----"
Susan Peckaby stopped, her voice subsiding into a shriek. She, and those
with her, became simultaneously aware that some white figure was bearing
down upon them. The shrieks grew awful.
It proved to be Roy in his white fustian jacket. Roy had never had the
privilege of hearing a dozen women shriek in concert before; at least,
like this. His loud derisive laugh was excessively aggravating. What
with that, what with the fright his appearance had really put them in,
they all tore off, leaving some hard words for him; and never stopped to
take breath until they burst into the shop of Mrs.
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