“Oh, I'm all dressed,” answered Virginia, coming toward her. She held a lamp in her hand, and the light fell over her girlish figure in its muslin gown. “You are so late, Betty,” she added, stopping before the bureau. “Were you by yourself?”
“Not all the way,” replied Betty, slowly.
“Who was with you? Champe?”
“No, not Champe—Dan,” said Betty, stooping to unfasten her boots.
Virginia was pinning a red verbena in her hair, and she turned to catch a side view of her face.
“Do you know I really believe Dan likes you best,” she carelessly remarked. “I asked him the other afternoon what colour hair he preferred, and he snapped out, 'red' as suddenly as that. Wasn't it funny?”
For a moment Betty did not speak; then she came over and stood beside her sister.
“Would you mind if he liked me better than you, dear?” she asked, doubtfully. “Would you mind the least little bit?”
Virginia laughed merrily and stooped to kiss her.
“I shouldn't mind if every man in the world liked you better,” she answered gayly. “If they only had as much sense as I've got, they would, foolish things.”