"If you say bishop to me again I'll stone you," He cried, and Rosalie only laughed.
By this time Doris had finished patting her hair before the small mirror in her bag, and joined them quietly. But she was not hungry, she drank two cups of very strong coffee—and Mr. MacCammon suddenly was not hungry either. Rosalie munched comfortably through six courses and when she reached her ice-cream and macaroons she told MacCammon he might run along and get the gas if he liked while she was finishing, which he promptly did. As soon as he was gone she looked at her sister slyly.
"General—I—may I confide something—in you?"
Doris stiffened instantly, and turned a frigid face that way. "Yes," she said somberly, "go on, let's get it over with. I have been expecting it for some time."
A mischievous smile darted to Rosalie's eyes, but the shielding lashes hid it. "I—Do you think I am too young to fall in love?"
"No," said Doris desperately, "I do not. I don't think anybody is too young, or too old, or—anything."
"Age has nothing to do with love, has it?"
"No, age hasn't, nor brains, nor sense, nor dignity, nor—sometimes I think even religion hasn't anything to do with love."
"Of course I may be mistaken—"
"No chance."