CHAPTER SEVEN
"I believe I should hate to have Mr. Thayer fall in love with me," Sally observed thoughtfully.
"I wouldn't worry about it yet," Bobby said unkindly. "He yawned twice, last night, while he was talking to you."
Sally's answer was prompt.
"Yes, we were discussing you."
"Why didn't you call me over to give you some points? It is the only subject upon which I can speak with authority. But just think what a lover Thayer would make, troubadouring around under windows!"
Sally counted swiftly.
"There are nineteen families in our hotel, Bobby, and thirteen of them have marriageable daughters. Imagine the creaking of casements, when Mr. Thayer warbled, 'Open the window to me, Love!' Troubadours will do for the country; in town, one can heed only the impersonal strains of the hurdy-gurdy. But really—"