“H-m-m-m!” says she, givin’ me the up-and-down inventory.  “No wonder you’re called Torchy.  One seldom sees hair quite so vivid.”

“I know,” says I.  “No use tryin’ to play it for old rose, is there?  All I’m touchy about is havin’ it called red.”

“For goodness’ sake!” says she.  “What shade would you call it?”

“Why,” says I, “I think it sounds more refined to speak of it as pink plus.”

But Myra seems to be josh-proof.

“That, I presume,” says she, “is a specimen of what Aunt Cornelia refers to as your unquenchable impertinence.”

“Oh!” says I.  “If you’ve been gettin’ Auntie’s opinion of me—­”

“I have,” says Myra; “and, as a near relative of Verona’s, I trust you’ll pardon me if I seem a bit critical on my own part.”

“Don’t mind me at all,” says I.  “You don’t like the way I talk or the color of my hair.  Go on.”

She ain’t one to be led anywhere, though.

“I understand,” says Myra, “that you come here two or three evenings a week.”

“That’s about the schedule,” says I.

“And just why?” demands Myra.

“It’s more or less of a secret,” says I; “but there’s always a chance, you know, of my havin’ a cozy little fam’ly chat like this.  And when that don’t happen—­well, then I can talk with Vee.”

Miss Burr’s mouth puckers until it looks like a slit in a lemon.

“To be perfectly frank,” says she, “I think it unutterably silly of Aunt Cornelia to allow it.”

“I can see where you’re goin’ to be a great help,” says I.  “Stayin’ some time, are you?”

“That depends,” says Myra—­and the way she snaps at me is almost assault with intent to maim.  “I suppose,” she goes on, “that you and Verona are quite as insufferable as young people usually are.  Tell me; do you sit in corners and giggle?”

“Not as a rule,” says I, “but it looks like we would.”

“At me, I presume?” says Myra.  “Very well; I accept the challenge.”

And say, she’s no prune-fed pacifist, Cousin Myra.  Course, she don’t swing the hammer quite so open when the folks get back, for Vee ain’t one you can walk on with hobnails and get away with it.  I guess Myra suspicioned that.  But, when it comes to sly jabs and spicy little side remarks shot in casual, Miss Burr lives up to her last name.

“Oh, yes!” says she, when they tries to introduce us reg’lar.  “We have become well acquainted—­very.”

“How nice!” says Vee, sort of innocent.

“I am glad you think so,” says Myra.

And for the rest of the evenin’ she confines her remarks to Auntie, cuttin’ loose with the sarcasm at every openin’ and now and then tossin’ an explosive gas bomb at us over Auntie’s shoulder.  Nothing anyone could grab up and hurl back at her, you know.  It’s all shootin’ from ambush.  Some keen tongue she has, take it from me.  At 9:30 I backed out under fire, leavin’ Vee with her ears pinked up and a smolderin’ glow in them gray eyes of hers.