"My sister wrote me about your dimples, Lady Betty," said he, when I smiled; and I screwed my mouth into prunes and prisms as quickly as I could.
"I should have thought such things were hardly worth writing about," said I.
"My impression is that they're worth about a million dollars an eighth of an inch," he replied, "and I bet they'd fetch that in a bear market."
I began to wish that Mrs. Ess Kay or Sally would come, for I'm not used to having persons who have just introduced themselves make remarks on my dimples or other features.
"Don't be mad with me," he went on, "or I shall think I've estimated them too low. On mature consideration, as we soldier chaps say at a court-martial, I should be inclined to set them higher. If you'll just show them again——"
"I think, if you don't mind," said I, "that I'd rather speak of the weather."
"I'm afraid you're not used to Americans," said he.
"I've met several, crossing, but none of them talked to me about--such things," I replied, rather primly.
"If they had, I should have challenged them," he retorted. "While you're staying with my sister, I consider myself a sort of guardian of yours, and part of my duty will be to keep off men--other men--with a stick, you see."
"No, I don't see," said I. "Not that there will be the least necessity for you to do anything of the sort."