"You can warn me all you like," declared Dorothy, "without ever succeeding in persuading me that you are anything tut a lovable grumbler. I know I'm going to like you. My only fear is that you won't like me."
She was in a gayer mood than she had been at any moment since her father's death. She had heeded his repeated request. She was not making of herself a dreary person by constant sobbing, mourning and wearing black. Of course she missed him and there was a great void in her life. Still she would go on, even as her father had desired. She would not be afraid.
"And why shouldn't I like you?" asked Mary Blaine.
"For one thing," said Dorothy lightly, "I split infinitives."
"That doesn't mean anything to me," said Mary drolly. "They're like gold-fish and I never kept them in my life."
"Speaking of fish," said Dorothy, "before long I intend to introduce you to Jimmy Whale who is a particular friend of mine. I hope you like him."
"Never fear," commented Mary. "Anybody built on my gentle lines is sure to like a Whale."
"I hope you will."
"May I ask if there is anything serious between you?" asked Mary wickedly.
"Many things," was the quick reply. "Our minds are made up. He has decided that being poor he will never marry me because I'm rich. And I have decided that being rich I will never marry him because he is poor."
Mary puckered up her mouth and winked one eye.
"I see," she mused, "and now there is nothing left to do but set the day."
"To set what day?"
"To set the day when you won't be married."
Mary glanced around as Timothy, the butler, entered. He was tall and straight, dignified and bald. Dorothy often said that to her he looked like Lord Helpus.
"He always makes me feel lowly," she had complained, "when he enters a room, I feel like bowing to him and fetching tea. It is hell to have a jigger in your employ who makes you feel like a servant."
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