“A girl who couldn’t take a plain hint,” cried Hortense, “and stay away altogether when we didn’t answer her telegram——”
“Hush, girls. We must treat her kindly,” said their father. “Ahem!”
“I don’t see why?” demanded Hortense, bluntly.
“You don’t understand everything,” responded Mr. Starkweather, rather weakly.
“I don’t understand you, Pa, sometimes,” declared Hortense.
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing right now!” snapped the older girl. “I’ve ordered her things taken out of that chamber. Her shabby old trunk has gone up to the room at the top of the servants’ stairway. It’s good enough for her.”
“We certainly have not got to have this cowgirl around for long,” continued Hortense. “She’d be no fit company for Flossie. Flossie’s rude enough as it is.”
The youngest daughter had gone to school, so she was not present with her saucy tongue to hold up her own end of the argument.
“Think of a girl right from a cattle ranch!” laughed Belle. “Fine! I suppose she knows how to rope steers, and break ponies, and ride bareback like an Indian, and all that. Fine accomplishments for a New York drawing-room, I must say.”
“Oh, yes,” joined in Hortense. “And she’ll say ‘I reckon,’ and drop her ‘g’s’ and otherwise insult the King’s English.”