“Well—make haste.”
Flossy ran away from him and seized Mysie in a warm, and—considering their respective sizes—somewhat overwhelming embrace.
“My little darling, it’s delightful. I always meant you to have a fairy prince, and to think it should be Arthur!”
“I am very glad he is not a fairy prince,” said Mysie, smiling.
“What is he, then?” cried Flossy.
“Why, Flossy,” said Mysie, “I think he’s only what old Miss Rogers used to call ‘Mr Right.’”