“There usually is a reason.”
“I suppose so. Perhaps it’s in the air.” There was a silence that lasted a minute or two. “Lieutenant King’s calling this evening.”
“I’m sure that shouldn’t make you blue, my dear girl,” exclaimed Margaret Cullis, laughing.
“Well, it doesn’t cheer me up much, because I know what he’s going to say; and I know what I’m going to answer. It’s always the same thing.”
“I can’t see why you don’t love him, Wichita. It would be a wonderful match for you.”
“Yes, for me; but not for him. His people would be ashamed of me.”
“Don’t be silly! There isn’t any man or any family too good for you—I doubt if there is any good enough for you.”
“You’re a dear, but the fact remains that they are stiff-backed Bostonians with more culture than there is in the whole state that I came from and a family tree that started as a seedling in the Garden of Eden, while I got most of my education out of a mail order catalog; and if I ever had a family tree it must have been blown away by a Kansas cyclone while my folks were fighting Indians.
“And speaking of Indians, whom do you think I saw today?”
“Who?”