“That your precious Roger is a dealer in magic and spells; that you’ve already learned flying on a broomstick and practice it on nights when the moon is full; that you’re hideously ugly; that you’re wonderfully beautiful; that you live in a tree; that you sleep in a coffin; that you’re digging for gold; that you’ve found the recipe for diamonds; that you’ve—­”

“Now you’re making fun of me,” he laughed as she paused for lack of breath.

“I’m not.  If there’s anything that you are or aren’t that I haven’t heard, I can’t imagine what it is.  In other words, Jerry, you’re the mystery of the county.  Aren’t you glad?”

“Glad?  Of course not.  It’s all such utter rot.”

“Of course.  But doesn’t it make you feel mysterious?”

“Not a bit.”

“Doesn’t it ever occur to you how important a person you are?”

“How—­important?”

“To begin with, of course, you’re fabulously wealthy.  You knew that, didn’t you?”

“Oh, I suppose I’ve got some money, but I don’t let it worry me.”

“Do you know how much?”

“No, I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Not that you’ve got millions—­millions!”

“If my millions are as impalpable as my broomstick they won’t hurt me much,” he laughed.  And then soberly:  “Say, Una, you seem to know a lot more about me than I know about myself.”

“I think I do,” she returned.  “For instance, of course, you couldn’t guess that half the match-making mammas of the county are already setting their caps for you.”

He looked bewildered at that, I’m sure.

“Do you know,” he said, “that I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course,” she laughed.  “I forgot.  They want to marry you to their daughters.”

“Marry!  Me!  You’re joking.”

I think he must have seemed really alarmed.

“I’m not.  The fat, the small, the lean and the tall.  They’re all after you.  The moment you poke your nose outside the gate next year, they’re all going to pounce on you and try to carry you off.”

“But I can’t marry them all,” he said aghast.  “Besides I don’t want to marry anybody.  And I’m not going to.”

She couldn’t restrain herself now and burst into wild peals of merriment, while Jerry watched her, uncertain whether to be angry or amused.  At last he decided to smile.

“You seem to have a lot of fun with me, Una, don’t you?”

“I don’t mean to.  But the picture of you trying to escape the engulfing flood of mammas is too much.  I’ve got to laugh, Jerry.  I can’t help it.”

“Laugh, then.  I don’t think it’s so funny, though.”

“But it is.  Because I’m sure you’d be too polite to refuse them—­any of them.”

“Polite!  I won’t be polite.  Just because I’m nice to you isn’t any sign.  I—­I’ll send ’em all packing.  You’ll see.”

“Oh, you’re brave enough now, but wait—­wait!” She bent over, clasping her knees, still shaking with merriment.