"She'll like you," observed Elsie wistfully. "You know she spoke in her letter of young life."
"I shall adore her, dear old thing!" cried the warm-hearted girl. "And Uncle John will adore you. He adored my mother, who was quiet and deep like you. He was always sending her rare things, and pitying her because she was poor and longing to send her money, though dad wouldn't have that."
The appearance of an expressman warned them that they were nearing Boston.
"You're perfectly sure that you're willing to exchange New York for Enderby?" demanded Elsie Moss suddenly.
"Oh, yes, indeed, Elsie."
"And you don't yearn for Cousin Julia?"
Elsie Marley half smiled. "Oh, no," she declared.
But the other was determined not to take any undue advantage.
"Now listen," she said; "if after you see Uncle John you don't fancy him, just say the word or nudge me or wink and I'll swap back without a word. I'll simply step up and say, 'Oh, Uncle John, you've kissed the wrong girl!' though, of course, he may be too dignified to kiss at a train. And then I'll introduce you properly."
They sped on. Soon a trainman entered to say that the next station was Boston and request them not to leave any articles in the car. They said good-by to each other before the train stopped, kissing warmly like real friends. Then Elsie Moss tied a large, dark veil over her hat and well down over her forehead and eyes. It looked as inappropriate for the hot day as the scowling expression she assumed to cloak the dimples was ill suited to her charming little face.