“Oh, come, I like that,” said Saxa, whose face was now scarlet, and she frowned as she gazed at her sister’s reflection in the glass instead of at her own and the bracelets she was attaching to her well-shaped arms. “He was riding by your side all day yesterday.”
“Look here,” said Dana coldly, “if you want to quarrel send away the maid. I don’t want Burwood. You can have him.”
“Thank you. But you might tell the truth.”
“Don’t be a fool!” said Dana, and then, hurriedly, “Hush! don’t let’s quarrel here. But it’s too bad; anyone would think we were nobody at all, and that the boys were not at home.”
“Don’t be a fool yourself,” whispered Saxa, leaning forward and offering a cut glass bottle. Then, aloud, “Scent?” and again, in a low voice, “That minx’s ears are like a fox’s.”
“Thanks,” said Dana, taking the bottle and using it liberally. “Here, what’s-your-name? Maria, have a drop of scent?”
“Oh, thank you, miss,” cried the maid eagerly. “No; don’t take it now,” said Saxa, replacing the scent on the table. “You may empty the bottle when you pack up our things to-morrow.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Lydon.”
“Got quite well and strong again?”
“Yes, miss, quite, thank you.”