"It's no good wheedling," he grumbled. "I'm not going to wait for anything. We've come to take you home, and the quicker you pack up and get ready the better."
"What do you mean by home?" I enquired.
"To Mrs. Stuyvesant-Knox's house in New York, where she says she'll be good enough to put us up till the next decent ship sails for England."
"I'm not going back to Mrs. Stuyvesant-Knox's," said I. "She knows why it's impossible."
"Rot," said Stan. "She's jolly kind to have you, after the way you've acted. Anybody'd think you were eight, instead of eighteen. You deserve to be put on bread and water for making me come three thousand miles to fetch you home."
"I didn't ask you to come," said I, "and you needn't have bothered. Is Vic engaged yet?"
"Yes, she is; the day before I started. What's that got to do with it?"
"A good deal, according to her," I replied. "I'm engaged, too."
"The dickens you are!" exclaimed Stan, getting redder than ever, while Mrs. Ess Kay gave a little start and glared at Sally.
My blood was up now, and I didn't care what I said. The sooner Stan knew everything just as it was, the better.