"I wouldn’t have thought you were such a bad man," said the sister ever so
sweetly; "but I like bad men. They interest me. They—"

"There!—I see your finish," said Burnett. "That’s one of her favorite
opening plays. It’s all up with you, Jack, and your aunt will have to to
go down for another damage suit when you begin to perceive that you have
had enough of our family. But you’ll have to get out now, Betty, and let
him get dressed for dinner. You needn’t cry about it either for he’s even
more attractive in his glad rags than he is in his railway dust—my word of
honor on it."

"I look nice myself when I’m dinner-dressed," said the sister, "so I
sympathize with him and I’ll go with pleasure. Good-bye."

She sort of backed toward the door and Jack sprang to open it for her.

"You can kiss her hand, if you like," Burnett said kindly. "They do in
Germany, you know. I don’t mind and mamma needn’t know."

"May I?" Jack asked her; and then he caught her eye over her brother’s
bent head and added, so quickly that there was hardly any break at all
between the words: "Some other time?"

"Some other time," she said, with a world of meaning in the promise; and
then she flashed one wonderful look straight into his eyes and was gone.

"Isn’t she great?" Burnett asked, unlocking his suit-case in the most
provokingly every-day style, as if this day was an every-day sort of day
and not the beginning and end of all things. "Oh, I tell you, I’m almost
dotty over that sister myself."