"Good heavens," he exclaimed, half serious, "what Indians you all are!"

"I'm quite shameless," she admitted, "and this is really what I
thought--you can, perhaps, help me sometimes, I don't know how, but he
will be out here a lot, men talk together--"

"And I can tell him that Myrtle is an utterly untrustworthy person who
would make him ultimately miserable. I'll remind him that her beauty is
no deeper than he sees it. But that Caroline there, admirable girl,
seething with affection in a figure warranted against time or
accident--" her expression brought his banter to an end. He studied her
seriously, revolved what she had said. She was right about Myrtle, who
was undoubtedly a vain and silly little fish. His father's immoderate
admiration for her had puzzled him as well as the elder sister. He
remembered that never had he heard their mother express a direct opinion
of Myrtle; but neither had Isabel Penny shown the slightest question of
her husband's high regard for their youngest child. She was, he realized
with a warming of his admiration, beautifully cultivated in the wisdom
of the world.

Caroline was vastly preferable to Myrtle, he felt that instinctively;
and he was inclined to give her whatever assistance he could. But this
would be negligible, and he said so. "You will have to do the trick by
yourself," he advised her. "I wouldn't pretend to tell you how. As you
said, you're not a ninny. And Myrtle's none too clever, although she
will manage to seem so. It's wonderful how she'll pick up a hint or two
and make a show. You see--she will be talking iron to David as if she
had been raised in a furnace."