"I know you would like the little girl, Mother," he ended; "she is such a natural, jolly sort, and there isn't one bit of nonsense about her."
Mrs. Randolph smiled as she poured her son's coffee, and regarded him with proud, loving eyes.
"You never have admired the 'sort' with nonsense about them, have you, dear?" she said rather mischievously.
"I haven't any use for them," said Beverly with decision. "I like girls well enough when they behave decently, but the silly giggly ones get on my nerves. This one—Marjorie Graham she says her name is—is all right, though. I think I know the cousin by sight, and I don't feel so sure about her."
"You mustn't be too fastidious, Beverly," said his mother, laughing. "I dare say they are both nice little girls. By the way, I have received an invitation from that charming Mrs. Bell, who called the other day, asking us both to dine with her next Tuesday. Her husband is an old friend of Uncle George's, you know. Mrs. Bell told me she had a daughter of thirteen or fourteen, so that will be another acquaintance for you."
"Well, if she is like most of the New York girls I've seen I sha'n't care much about her," declared Beverly. "I prefer the ones that come from Arizona. Honestly, Mother, I want you to meet that little girl. I don't know what it was about her, but she reminded me of Babs."
A look of pain crossed Mrs. Randolph's sweet face, but her voice was still quite cheerful as she answered—
"Very well, dear, be sure to introduce her to me; I want to know all your friends."
As soon as she could escape from her relatives after breakfast, Marjorie fled to her own room, there to have her cry out, and pull herself together, before starting on a shopping expedition with her aunt. Elsie was going to lunch with a schoolmate, but Aunt Julia had ordered the carriage and told Marjorie that she intended devoting the day to shopping.
"You are to begin school on Monday," she explained, "and I must get you some decent clothes as soon as possible."