“Oh, they telegraphed you last night not to come till next week.”
“And I didn’t get the telegram!”
“Thus that explains all! How did you get here?”
“In a rumbly old wagon of a kind farmer. The front door wasn’t locked, so I walked in and made myself at home. Are you staying here?”
“Yes, for a week. I’m sketching some bits of woodland, and I stayed at home to-day rather than go with them to stalk servants. Now, let me see,—this is rather a complicated situation. Shall I, by virtue of prior residence, be host and welcome you as my visitor, or would you rather appropriate the house as your own, and let me be your guest?”
His jolly, boyish face seemed to show that he thought the whole affair a great joke, and Betty fell into the spirit of it.
“When do the Careys return?” she asked.
“Mrs. Carey said they’d surely be home by three o’clock, and I could forage in the pantry to keep myself from starving.”
“All right,” said Betty; “I’ll be hostess, then, until she comes. You’ve heard Lena speak of me?”
“Gracious, yes! I’ve heard you so highly lauded that I doubt if you can live up to the angelic reputation she gives you!”