Burnett began to laugh.
“Jack,” he said, “I see that we’d better have a clear and above-board understanding right in the beginning and so I’ll just tell you that this sister of mine, who appears so guileless, is the very worst flirt ever. She looks honest, but she can’t tell the truth to save her neck. She means well, but she drives folks to suicide just for fun. She’d do anything for anybody in general, but when it’s a case of you individually she won’t do a thing to you, and you must heed my words and be forewarned and forearmed from now on. Mustn’t he, Betty?”
At this the sister laughed, nodding quite as gayly as if it were a laughing matter, instead of the opening move in a possibly serious—tremendously serious—game of life.
“It’s awful to have to subscribe to,” she said, with dancing eyes; “but I’m afraid it’s true. I’m really quite a reprobate, and I admit it frankly. And everyone is so good to me that I never get a chance to reform. And so—and so—”
“But then, I suppose I ought to warn her about you, too,” said Burnett, turning suddenly toward his friend. “It isn’t fair to show her up and not show you up, you know. And really, Betty, he’s almost as bad as you are yourself. I may tell you in confidence—in strict confidence (for it’s only been in a few newspapers)—that he hasn’t got his breach-of-promise suit all compromised yet. Ask him to deny it, if he can!”
The sister looked suddenly startled and curious and Jack felt himself to be blushing desperately.
“I don’t look as if he was lying, do I?” he asked smiling; “be honest now, for you can see that Burnett and I both are.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. “You look as if it was a very true bill.”
“It is,” he said; “and it’s going to be an awfully big one, too, I’m afraid.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you were such a bad man,” said the sister ever so sweetly; “but I like bad men. They interest me. They—”