"Mr. Clendon?" repeated Mrs. Belswin, taking the letter handed to her by Kaituna. "Is that the charming young fellow we met the other day?"
"Yes!"
"Oh, I see he has a friend staying with him, and they are going to call this afternoon. Kaituna, I am a sorceress--a witch, my dear, I should have been burnt in the middle ages as a practitioner of the black art. Give me your hand."
"What for," asked Kaituna in some confusion, as Mrs. Belswin took her by the wrist.
"For a magical ceremony! There! Now tell me. Is Mr. Clendon the prince?"
"No! No! No!"
"That's very emphatic. I mistrust emphasis in a girl. Well, we will dismiss Mr. Clendon, though he is very delightful. What about Mr. Maxwell? Ah! Now I know! Your pulse leaped at the name. Your face is rosy, your eyes are bright. By the white witchcraft I practise I interpret these signs. You are in love, my dear."
"No!"
"And with Mr. Maxwell."
Kaituna snatched away her hands with a little laugh and covered her burning face.