"I'm talking about Uncle Elbert's daughter, Miss Mary Carstairs. I had the pleasure of meeting her last night."
"The devil you did!" cried Peter, laughing with astonishment. "You certainly walk off with the prize for prompt results. How in the world did you manage it?"
Varney told him succinctly how he had managed it.
"Fine! Fine! Honestly, I was getting afraid that you never could do it at all, with the rotten reputation they've pinned on you here. Good enough! Still it's absurd to cite the opinion of a little child in a matter like this."
"It depends upon what you call a little child, doesn't it? Miss
Carstairs is nineteen years old."
Peter straightened in his chair with a jerk, and stared at him as though one or the other had suddenly gone mad.
"Nineteen! Why, I thought she was twelve."
"So did I."
"Why, how in Sam Hill did you ever make such an asinine mistake?"
Varney gave an impatient laugh.