"Behold the prodigal daughter! Shall we kill the fatted rarebit?" And Kitty threw herself upon me; while Cadge, waving her arms proudly at the Navajo rugs, stuffed heads of animals and vast canvasses of Indian braves and ponies that made the weird place more weird, replied to my query:—
"Borrowed it of an artist who's wintering in Mexico; cheap; just as it stands."
Then they installed me under a queer tepee, and we had one of the old time picked-up suppers, and for an hour my troubles were pushed into the background. The girls are in such frightful taste that I really should drop them, but they're loyal and so proud of me!
"Princess," said Cadge, "time you were letting contracts for the building of fresh worlds to shine in. You're the most famous person in this, with all the women thirsting for your gore; and you've a real live Lord for a 'follower.'"
"That's nothing."
Cadge thinks me still betrothed to John, so she affected to misunderstand.
"Nearly nothing, for a fact," she said; "it isn't ornamental, but we seldom see specimens and mustn't judge hastily. And it is a Lord.—See the hand-out he gave me for last Sunday—full-page interview: 'Earl of Strathay Discusses American Society?'
"Some English won't stand for anything but a regular pie-faced story, but Strathay's a real good little man."
"You said he had sixty-nine pairs of shoes," said Kitty reminiscently.
"No; twenty-nine."