"Certainly," said she promptly. "Everybody likes him. I like him. So
does your ma and so does your pa. That's nothing to go by. Why, I'll
bet you like him yourself. He's a fine fellow."

"Do you think he's very good looking?"

"In a way, yes," said Melissa, musingly. "I shouldn't call him quite
perfect, however."

"Do you think he's as good-looking as Diggs?"

"I used to think so, but--Now, that reminds me: if you ever say a word
to anybody about Mr. Diggs and me being enamoured of each other, I'll
have nothing more to do with you--not a thing, d'you understand? It's
a secret. Your pa and ma are not to know about it until we get ready
to announce our engagement."

"I'll never tell," promised the young lover.

"And here's another thing: Don't you ever let on to Mr. Diggs that I'm
over twenty-six. If you do, I'll tell your pa that you're using his
razor, and--well, say, that would be a mortification for you. Miss
Fairweather would never get over laughing at you. Do you know, I'm
awfully sorry for Mr. Flanders. He is a fine fellow, and it will break
his heart if you get her away from him, Freddie. It seems too bad for
a rich young gentleman like you to be pitted against a poor,
struggling newspaper man whose heart is afire with--"

"Oh, gee, Melissa, don't talk like that," cried Frederick in distress.