“That’s just what I want. Mind, then, Wednesday evening, at eight o’clock. What is the number of your office?”
“No. —— Broadway.”
“I will send you a regular card of invitation. Then you will be treated just like the rest.”
She was about to turn away when a thought struck her.
“O, I forgot to introduce you to my cousin, Mark Sterling. Mark, this is Paul Parton, the boy who drove off the burglar when papa was gone to Washington. You’ve heard me speak of him?”
“O, yes, I’ve heard of him,” said Mark, coldly. “He behaved in a very creditable way—for a telegraph boy,” he continued, in a patronizing tone.
“Or for any other boy!” rejoined Jennie, quickly. “Really, I look upon Paul quite as a hero.”
“I am afraid I am not entitled to such high praise,” said Paul, modestly.
“You must make allowances for my Cousin Jennie,” said Mark. “She is a girl, and girls are all apt to gush.”