"All!" exclaimed Rosalind in a shocked tone. "Why, Mrs. Witherbee!"
"Well, you know what I mean," declared Mrs. Witherbee. "Of course you wouldn't marry them all. But it could be any one of the seventeen or eighteen. Now, couldn't it, Rosalind?"
Rosalind sighed, not because she was either romantic or pensive, but out of sheer despair.
"I presume it could be," she admitted.
"Oh, you heart-breaker!" chided Mrs. Witherbee confidentially.
"I'm not!" declared Rosalind stoutly. "There isn't a broken heart among them. Their hearts are all perfectly sound and serviceable. They're not only air-cooled, but water-jacketed, and not one of them ever had a misfire on my account."
"Rosalind! What in the world are you talking about?"
"Oh, well, please let's not talk about it any more. I can't stop them from asking me, can I?"
"No, but— Why, some of us wonder if you ever will be married!"
Rosalind shook her head wearily.