might cut college and—

"My chum, Jack Denham," Burnett continued, proving in the same instant how
rapidly the mind may work since his friend had compassed his encyclopedia
of sentiment and probability between the two halves of a formal
introduction.

"Oh, I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Denham," she said, putting out her
hand—and he took and held it just long enough to realize that he really
was holding it, before she took it away to keep for her own again. "I’ve
often heard of you, and often wished I might know you."

"I’m awfully glad to hear you say that," he said, "and if I should have
the royal luck to be next to you at dinner, it doesn’t seem to me that I
shall have the strength to keep from telling you why."

She clapped her hands at this, just as a very little girl might have done.

"If that is so, I hope that they will put you next to me at dinner," she
said gayly; "but if they don’t, you’ll tell me some other time, won’t you?
I’m always _so_ interested in what people have to tell me about myself."

Burnett began to laugh.

"Jack," he said, "I see that we’d better have a clear and above-board
understanding right in the beginning and so I’ll just tell you that this
sister of mine, who appears so guileless, is the very worst flirt ever.
She looks honest, but she can’t tell the truth to save her neck. She means
well, but she drives folks to suicide just for fun. She’d do anything for
anybody in general, but when it’s a case of you individually she won’t do