"And bald-headed business men and fussy, over-dressed women," added Nan demurely, her eyes twinkling at the look of horror that Bess turned upon her.
"Nan, how can you?" Bess burst out, as Nan had fully expected her to do. "Bald-headed men, indeed! Do you suppose I have come all this way just to see a lot of old bald-headed men?"
"You haven't come yet," Nan reminded her, her eyes sparkling. "I didn't say all the men were bald-headed," she added, in an attempt to soothe her outraged companion. "But dad says most of them are—especially the millionaires."
"Oh, how—how—dreadful!" stuttered Bess. "Why, all the millionaires I ever saw had beautiful, leonine heads with shaggy manes of thick white hair and strong, clearly cut chins——"
"That's in the movies," Nan interrupted with a chuckle. "Papa Sherwood says that if all the men had hair like the movie heroes they would have to spend all their energy growing it and wouldn't have time to attend to their brains. And then where would their millions be?"
"Well," said Bess, unable to find an answer to this queer question, yet still indignant, nevertheless, "you needn't go to work to spoil all my illusions. I don't believe you have a speck of romance anywhere about you, Nan Sherwood."
"Maybe I haven't," Nan admitted cheerfully, without looking the slightest bit worried about it. "But I expect to have lots of fun, just the same. Oh, Bess, look out!"
Bess, who had stood up to pull down the shade, jumped and looked about at Nan wildly.
"What's the matter?" she gasped. "Train on fire?"
"No. But you almost sat on a chocolate," said Nan calmly, as she removed the large and luscious sweet from Bess's seat. Bess stared at her reproachfully and sank back into the chair.