“Tell me, have you noticed this extraordinary attention of Mr. Munroe to me?”

“Candidly?” asked Jessie, seating herself comfortably on the table sideways, and endeavoring, to pull her skirt over her little feet.  “Honest Injun?”

“Don’t be idiotic, and, above all, don’t be slangy!  Of course, candidly.”

“Well, no.  I can’t say that I have.”

“Then,” said Christie, “why in the name of all that’s preposterous, do they persist in pairing me off with the least interesting man of the lot?”

Jessie leaped from the table.

“Come now,” she said, with a little nervous laugh, “he’s not so bad as all that.  You don’t know him.  But what does it matter now, as long as we’re not going to see them any more?”

“They’re coming here for the ride to-day,” said Christie resignedly.  “Father thought it better not to break it off at once.”

“Father thought so!” echoed Jessie, stopping with her hand on the door.

“Yes; why do you ask?”

But Jessie had already left the room, and was singing in the hall.

CHAPTER IV

The afternoon did not, however, bring their expected visitors.  It brought, instead, a brief note by the hands of Whiskey Dick from Fairfax, apologizing for some business that kept him and George Kearney from accompanying the ladies.  It added that the horses were at the disposal of themselves and any escort they might select, if they would kindly give the message to Whiskey Dick.

The two girls looked at each other awkwardly; Jessie did not attempt to conceal a slight pout.

“It looks as if they were anticipating us,” she said, with a half-forced smile.  “I wonder, now, if there really has been any gossip?  But no!  They wouldn’t have stopped for that, unless—­” She looked curiously at her sister.

“Unless what?” repeated Christie; “you are horribly mysterious this morning.”

“Am I?  It’s nothing.  But they’re wanting an answer.  Of course you’ll decline.”

“And intimate we only care for their company!  No!  We’ll say we’re sorry they can’t come, and—­accept their horses.  We can do without an escort, we two.”

“Capital!” said Jessie, clapping her hands.  “We’ll show them—­”

“We’ll show them nothing,” interrupted Christie decidedly.  “In our place there’s only the one thing to do.  Where is this—­Whiskey Dick?”

“In the parlor.”

“The parlor!” echoed Christie.  “Whiskey Dick?  What—­is he—­”

“Yes; he’s all right,” said Jessie confidently.  “He’s been here before, but he stayed in the hall; he was so shy.  I don’t think you saw him.”

“I should think not—­Whiskey Dick!”

“Oh, you can call him Mr. Hall, if you like,” said Jessie, laughing.  “His real name is Dick Hall.  If you want to be funny, you can say Alky Hall, as the others do.”