“Why not?  He wouldn’t mind.”

“Just the same, it isn’t a gentlemanly thing to do,” she said severely.

“If it comes to that,” he retorted sharply, “I ain’t a gentleman—­I’m a shipping clerk.”

“Then, of course, there’s nothing more to say,” she answered, turning her back.  Picking up a book, she dropped into a chair and, ignoring him, relapsed into a dignified silence.

But Jimmie was not to be suppressed by a mere rebuff.  After a long, sulky silence, during which he puffed viciously at his cigar, he followed his prospective sister-in-law across the room.  After staring at her for some time, he inquired: 

“How did you first come to know Mr. Stafford?”

At first the girl made no answer, pretending to be absorbed in what she was reading.  He repeated the question so pointedly that she would not ignore it any longer.  Looking up, she said rather impatiently: 

“How many more times must I tell you?  I was at my desk in the hotel about three months ago and he came and wanted long distance—­I think it was Washington.  There was some trouble getting his party and, as people will, we got into conversation about it.  I had no idea who he was—­”

Fanny, who had come up, listened intently to the conversation, and, to encourage her little sister to become confidential, arranged some pillows behind her back in motherly fashion.  Long before this the elder sister had come to conclusions of her own concerning Virginia’s acquaintance with the millionaire.  When a man of his wealth and position took the trouble to pay a girl of Virginia’s station such marked attention, capping the climax with this present invitation to dine at his house, either his intentions were not avowable or else he was very much in love and wanted to marry her, which last hypothesis sent a thrill down the good sister’s back.  Virgie the wife of a millionaire!  It seemed incredible—­too good to be true.  It would be the making of all of them.  She was glad Jimmie had brought up the subject.

“Did you know then who he was?” she asked.

Virginia laughed as if the question amused her.

“No,” she replied, “to tell you the truth, I didn’t much care.  A girl who handles a telephone desk at our hotel hasn’t got much time to bother about anything else.”

“When did you find out?” inquired Jimmie, suddenly taking a lively interest in the conversation.

“About a month later—­that day he sent downstairs for a stenographer.  I told you all about it at the time.  I asked at the desk if it was all right to go to his rooms.  They told me who he was and explained that he often transacted a lot of business there.  That’s how we got acquainted.  Since then, as you know, I have seen a great deal of him, telephoning and doing copying for him.  He has been very kind, indeed.  One day he asked me to go to dinner with him—­”

“Did you?” demanded Jimmie.