"You have not only the face of an angel, but the brain of a first-class strategist. For a child of twelve you are a marvel, Mrs. Bride. But do not—oh, do not let it lead you to suffragism," said the Honorable John Ruffin with warm admiration; and he rose briskly.
The besieger was now taking a rest from his labor at the oak and, through the slit of the letter-box, Pollyooly saw him leaning against the banisters. She flattened herself against the oak, and the Honorable John Ruffin nearly closed the inner door. "Ready," he said.
The oak flew open; like a jack-in-the-box, Pollyooly sprang out on to the landing, and the Honorable John Ruffin shut the inner door with a snap.
The besieger opened his mouth and started forward. "'Ere? Where? What?" he stuttered.
Pollyooly darted past him into Mr. Gedge-Tomkins' door, which she had left just unshut against emergency, and slammed it behind her.
The besieger, in a veritable fury, fell upon the knocker on the Honorable John Ruffin's inner door, and plied it with a will.
It made a grand noise; never before in his life
