Madeline said nothing to that; she only watched Betty’s face suddenly take on its sober, far-away, grown-up look, and wondered what that meant.
Presently Betty came out of her brown study.
“‘Coach and Four might do for name. Down Thursday with Miss Ayres to talk things over and begin arrangements.’ Does that sound like a businesslike telegram, Madeline? And will you surely go on Thursday? You must promise fair and square, because Mr. Morton perfectly hates to be disappointed. Well then, come with me to the telegraph office.”
“I wouldn’t give much for Jim Watson’s chances,” Madeline told Babe, who was sharing her room, later the same evening. “She is too happy as she is. I tell you, Babe, when a girl has found her niche, and it’s as big as Betty’s is and is going to be, it takes an extra-specially wonderful man to carry her off her feet.”
Babe sniffed. “It’s quite evident you’ve never been in love, Madeline Ayres.”
“I’ve written some stunning love-scenes,” Madeline retorted with a grin.
“If you think that’s the same thing, you can just wait,” Babe told her loftily.
“All right,” said Madeline. “I shall have to, I guess. Incidentally I know something that will make you stare and be glad you know such distinguished and brilliant old maids as Betty and me.”
“What?” demanded Babe, vastly excited.
“Can’t tell you yet a while.”