"A spoiled child, who hasn't the least business out of the school-room yet," mentally decides the visitor. Aloud he says, curiously:
"Do you know you have the advantage of me? I haven't the least idea who you are."
The blue eyes grow very large and round indeed. "Haven't you, really? Did Bertha never tell you about me—her little sister, Irene?"
"Never. She must have forgotten your existence," he answered, with an amused twinkle in his eyes.
"It is like her selfishness!" flashed Irene. "Never mind, I'll pay her out for her crossness this evening. Only think, Mr. Kenmore, papa came home just after they had gone, and said he would take me to the ball. I wonder if he is ready yet. It's quite time we were starting," she adds, looking anxiously at the door.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Brooke. Your dazzling entree put everything out of my mind for a moment. Your father was in here about fifteen minutes ago. He left a message for you."
"Why didn't you tell me, ah, why didn't you?" she demands, stamping her little foot in impatient wrath.
"You talked so fast I quite forgot," he answers coolly.
"Well, are you going to tell me now?" she inquires, flashing her large eyes at him superbly.