“Little busybody! Are you there?”

“Yes⁠—and you can’t reach me: I am higher up than you” (peeping between the rails of the banister; she could not look over them).

“Polly!”

“My dear boy!” (such was one of her terms for him, adopted in imitation of his mother).

“I am fit to faint with fatigue,” declared Graham, leaning against the passage-wall in seeming exhaustion. “ Dr. Digby” (the headmaster) “has quite knocked me up with overwork. Just come down and help me to carry up my books.”

“Ah! you’re cunning!”

“Not at all, Polly⁠—it is positive fact. I’m as weak as a rush. Come down.”