"I don't think I'm much of a niece," said Gay, with a wicked grin, "but I'm glad if you are pleased with me. I meant to make them have a whooping old time."
And the two gentle aunts heard this outburst of slang without changing color, and in silence, so rapid had been their educational progress since the advent of their supposed niece.
A little later when Gay was taking off frock and sash in his room, his self-satisfaction was disturbed by an unpleasant thought, and he ran to the banisters and called,
"Aunt Celia, isn't it a shame; I forgot to ask Patsey. He's a splendid boy—I hope he won't feel hurt."
The aunts exchanged glances.
"She's hopeless!" sighed Miss Linn.
"A little lacking in social instinct, perhaps," faltered Miss Celia, as bewildered by this remark as her sister, but determined not to own it. "I've no doubt," she said, with unexpected inspiration, "that she will grow up to be a very elegant woman; such harum-scarums often do."