“The Yellowstone is growing exciting,” he said. “Heavers to right of us, heiresses to left of us. Wayward brothers, and,” striking his breast triumphantly, “wise sons!”
“Yes, Robert. You’ve done very well, I must say.”
“Miss Maynard,—you observe that I speak the name with new and due reverence,—the heiress, I say, went to school with Hebe the heaver.”
“Is it possible?” returned Mrs. Nixon coldly. “Did—did the waitress claim acquaintance?”
“Not a bit of it,” rejoined Robert cheerfully. “Cousin turned the heiress down.”
“Robert, what are you talking about?”
“Why, you heard Uncle Henry say we were related.”
Mrs. Nixon made an exclamation. “Why must men of all ages lose their wits at sight of a pretty face?” she inquired of the ceiling.
“The conundrum of the ages, mamma, and I’m young yet, so I can’t tell you; but if you hadn’t been more of a sister than a mother you’d have watched my foresighted behavior. To tell the truth, when you glared at Hebe there by the river, I thought she was going to cry; so when Brute’s mother buttonholed him and you took Uncle Henry by the ear, I sought refuge with the stenographer, though the heaver looked pretty enough to eat. I knew Betsy would look after her.”
“They were at school together?” repeated Mrs. Nixon, wondering.