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Updated: May 2, 2025
"So long." Dan waited patiently for ten minutes; then he looked at his watch. What could be keeping Nance? He whistled to Growler, who was making life miserable for a cat in a neighboring yard, and strolled past Miss Bobinet's door; then he returned to the corner. Bean's words had fallen into his dream like a pebble into a tranquil pool.
She had discovered it on the day of her arrival and, choosing a volume at random, had become so engrossed in the doings of one of Ouida's heroes, that she had failed to hear Miss Bobinet's call. From that time on she was forbidden to take any books away from the bookcase, an order which she got around by standing beside it and eagerly devouring bits at a time.
Never once in the months she had been at Miss Bobinet's had he failed to be there on Saturday afternoon. If only she could send him some word, make some excuse! But it was not easy to deceive Dan, and she knew he would never rest until he got at the truth of the matter. No; she had better take Mrs. Snawdor's advice and run no risks.
After Nance had recovered from her suspense about Miss Bobinet's head, and had taken sufficient note of the vocal gymnastics to be able to reproduce them later for the amusement of the Snawdors, she began to experience great difficulty in keeping still. First one foot went to sleep, then the other. The minutes stretched to an hour.
Something new and strange and incommunicable was fermenting within her, and nothing was being done to direct those mysterious forces. She was affectionate, with no outlet for her affection; romantic, with nothing for romance to feed upon. The one resource lay in the bookcase that rose above the old-fashioned secretary in Miss Bobinet's front hall.
To be sure, Nance dreamed she heard it the following day at noon, and sprang up in bed with the terrifying conviction that she would be late at Miss Bobinet's. But when she saw where she was, she gave a sigh of relief, and snuggled down against Birdie's warm shoulder, and tried to realize what had happened to her.
But I am glad you called in this morning" the lady's voice rose into a more cheerful tone "I was just about putting on my things to go down to Mrs. Bobinet's opening. You intend going, of course. I shall be so delighted to have you along, for I want to consult your taste about a bonnet." "I came out for a different purpose altogether, Mrs. Ellis," said Mrs.
The only word that got past the grizzled fringe that bordered Miss Bobinet's shriveled ear was the last one. "Penuchle?" she repeated. "Can you play penuchle?" Nance nodded. "Get the table," ordered the old lady, peremptorily. Nance tried to explain that she had not come to stay, that she would go home, and get her things and return in the afternoon, but Miss Bobinet would brook no delay.
What business had Bean to be remembering the way Nance walked or talked. Restlessly, Dan paced up and down the narrow sidewalk. When he looked at his watch again, it was five-thirty. Only thirty more minutes in which to transact the most important business of his life! With a gesture of impatience he strode up to Miss Bobinet's door and rang the bell.
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