"Where does this Miss Burnaby come in?" she asked. "Who is she?"
Casey told her, and she frowned dubiously.
"Seems to me you butted into real society when you went outside, Casey. If she has all that money she's apt to be pernickity. I hate fussy women. Is she pretty?"
"Why—yes, I think so," he admitted. "Oh, yes, she's pretty—no doubt about that. But I don't think she's fussy. You'll like her, Sheila. She doesn't scare or rattle easily. In some ways she reminds me of you."
"Thank you. And how do you know she doesn't scare or rattle?"
He evaded the question. "I don't think she would."
"Why didn't you ever mention her before?"
"Never thought of it. I hadn't the least notion that Mrs. Wade was coming, let alone Miss Burnaby. You see, it puts me up against it. I'll be ever so much obliged if you'll help me out."
"I'll come over and arrange things in the rooms, of course," Sheila acquiesced.
And so, when Casey awaited the coming of the train which bore his guests, it was with the knowledge that his rough-and-tumble, quarters had been made as presentable as possible.