"Wouldn't you like to know!" she cried, in her teasing, school-girl fashion.
"I don't believe you could tell me, if I did."
"I could if I wanted to," she exclaimed. "I heard mamma and Josephine talking it over this morning. The door of the dressing-room was open a crack, and I heard every word. Now, honey, don't you wish I'd tell you?"
"I don't want to hear half as much as you want to tell me," I returned, trying to be unmoved.
"Oh! don't be uneasy on my account," she said. "I haven't the least idea of telling you. Only, I didn't suppose Mr. Rutledge could be so severe, and on 'his little friend,' too!"
"That—for Mr. Rutledge!" I exclaimed, with a disdainful snap of my fingers. "I don't care the fraction of a pin for his opinion!"
"I'll tell him," cried Grace, with delighted eyes.
"Do," I answered; and hiding my burning face on the pillow with Esther, I said:
"What shall we do to amuse ourselves this morning, Essie? Shall I tell you a story?"
"Yes," said Esther, looking pleased.