Shirley shook her head. But when the song was over he asked the question again.
"I 'm three months older," admitted Shirley.
"She looks three years older. Why is it?"
Shirley shook her head again. It was one thing to air her views to her family, quite another to tell Brant that Marian was leaping into young ladyhood and its signs too fast. But Brant studied his sister. Her blond head, the hair elaborately waved, could be seen between the heads and shoulders in front, the striking rose-crowned hat conspicuous among other elaborate hats of all patterns.
"She looks twenty-five, at least," he commented, approvingly. "She looks older than your sister Olive. And she seems to have that cad Maltbie glued to her for the afternoon. If that 's the best she can do, she 'd better take me. But she 's no use for brothers. Look here, when 's Forrest coming home?"
"I 've no idea. He was leaving Ecuador before the hot season began, and was intending to stay at Jamaica as long as it was comfortable. He wrote he might be off for the South Sea Islands soon. He 's had a tempting invitation."
"He 's a rover. His taste of army life gave him the fever. I wish he 'd get enough of it and come back. Things always 'go' while Forrest's home."
Altogether, between Brant Hille and two or three other young people, Shirley found the garden-party endurable. But its cakes and ices spoiled her appetite for dinner, and the moment that meal was over, she was off to the tennis-court. Here she and Rufus played several sets in so spirited a fashion that Murray and Jane, strolling over the lawn to watch them, were moved to comment upon Shirley's vigour.
"I 'm just working off the garden-party," declared the girl, when her brother asked the cause of so much energy upon so warm an evening.
"You should have put on your tennis skirt, dear," said Jane, as Shirley came up to her, racquet in hand.