"After she knows you a little better,
Bobby, she will expect this sort of denouement to follow whatever you
undertake. I say we ought to have some dinner, Mother, and then talk
at the table."
"Of course, of course," agreed motherly Mrs. Littell. "The poor
child must be famished. Take Betty--you don't mind if I call you
Betty, do you, dear?--up to your room, Bobby, and when you come down
dinner will be served."
"But my uncle!" urged Betty. "He will be so worried. And the other
girl--where do you suppose she is?"
"By George, the child has more sense than I have," said Mr. Littell
energetically. "I'd give a fortune if Bobby had half as level a head.
Our Betty is probably having hysterics in the station if she hasn't
taken the next train back to Vermont."
His keen eyes twinkled appreciatively at Betty, and she knew that
she liked him and also sensed instinctively that his eldest daughter
was very like him.
"Why, Father, how you do talk!" reproved Mrs. Littell comfortably.
"I'll call up the station while the girls are upstairs and then Betty
shall call the Willard, or you do it for her, and then perhaps we can
eat dinner before the souffle is quite ruined."
The girls took Betty upstairs to a luxurious suite of rooms they
shared, and when she had bathed her face and hands and brushed her
hair, they came down to find that Mr.
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