"Eh? I don't believe I—" I paused perplexedly.
"That's right—her room-mate, I tell you! And in a day or two she's coming home with Sis for a visit. I want you to come up for a week end—won't you—and look her over—I mean, see her and tell me what you think of her. You'll go crazy about her—oh, I know you will!"
I entered a protest. "Oh, I say now, you know, there's only one girl I ever saw I would care to look at twice."
She smiled adorably. "Oh, don't I know all about how you feel? But I just want you to see this girl—she's the prettiest and swellest that's been around Boston for many a day; and on Sunday morning she could give the flag to all the Avenue. Why, Dicky, she's from China!"
"China!" I must have looked the scorn I felt. "Oh, come now, you don't think a Chinese girl is—"
"Not Chinese, Dicky." In her eagerness, she moved so near, the silk of her pajamas brushed my hand. "She's English. Her dad's the British Governor General of Hong Kong—Colonel Francis Kirkland, you know—beefy-looking old chap with white mutton chops—I saw his picture."
Hong Kong! I wondered if she knew Mastermann, the chap who had sent me the red pajamas. Why, dash it, of course she would; for this fellow Mastermann was out there on government business, and he and the Governor must be thrown together a good deal.
Her musical laugh broke in on my speculations. "But the funniest thing is, Dicky, her name's the same as mine."
Her name! By Jove, and until this moment, I had not thought—
"Oh, I say," I exclaimed eagerly, "what is your name, anyway?"