But it was Dotty who spoke first. "Well," she said, "how do you like me?"
It was an unfortunate question. For Dolly Fayre hadn't a single definite notion regarding Dotty Rose except that she didn't like her. However, it would hardly do to tell her that, so she said, slowly: "I don't know yet; how do you like me?"
"Well, I think you're awfully pretty, to begin with."
"So do I you," put in Dolly, glad to find a favourable report that she could make truthfully.
"Aren't we different," went on the other thoughtfully; "you're so blonde and I'm so dark."
"Yes; I just hate my hair,—towhead, Bert calls me."
"Who's Bert?"
"He's my brother; he's away at school. He's seventeen years old." Dolly spoke proudly, as if she had said, "he's captain of the Fleet."
"Why, I've got a brother away at school, too."
"Have you? What's his name?"