"Which sister?" Jack inquired; for his friend was one of a very large
family, and he had met several of them on their various visits to town.

"Betty—the one who beats all the others hollow,"—but just there the
conversation was broken off by the servants coming up with the luggage and
setting two doors open that showed them two big rooms, both exquisitely
furnished, and both with windows that looked out, first on to a stone
balustrade, and secondly on to a superb view over the river and the
mountains beyond.

The men unstrapped the things and went away, leaving such a plenitude of
comfort behind them as led Jack to fling himself into the most luxurious
chair in the room and stretch his arms and legs far and wide in utter
contentment.

Burnett was fishing for his key ring.

"It’s a great old place, isn’t it?" he remarked parenthetically. "Great
Scott! but I’ll bet we have fun these two days! And if my sister Betty is
here—" He paused expressively.

"Doesn’t she live at home?" Jack asked.

"She’s just come home; she’s been in England for three years. Oh, but I
tell you she’s a corker!"

"I should think—"

The sentence was never completed because a voice without the
not-altogether-closed door cried: