"Oh, _he_ wouldn't mind that!"

"How stupid of me! Of course, he wouldn't. Was it Richard
Lindley?"

"Never!"

"I see. Yes, that was a bad guess: I'm sure Lindley's just the
same steady-going, sober, plodding old horse he was as a boy. His
picture doesn't fit a romantic frame--singing under a lady's
window in a thunderstorm! Your serenader must have been very
young."

"He is," said Cora. "I suppose he's about twenty-three; just a
boy--and a very annoying one, too!"

Her companion looked at her narrowly. "By any chance, is he the
person your little brother seemed so fond of mentioning--Mr.
Vilas?"

Cora gave a genuine start. "Good heavens! What makes you think
that?" she cried, but she was sufficiently disconcerted to confirm
his amused suspicion.

"So it was Mr. Vilas," he said. "He's one of the jilted, of
course."

"Oh, `jilted'!" she exclaimed. "All the wild boys that a girl
can't make herself like aren't `jilted,' are they?"