"Yep! I guess there wasn't much left of that fellow! Dad said that was the finest tackle he ever saw."
"It shook me up all right," he said, grinning.
"Well, if Dad likes you and Romp likes you, you must be some account," she continued, camping on the rug and seizing triumphantly the stubby tail. "Dad's strong for you!"
Bojo settled on the edge of the sofa, watching the furious encounter which took place for the possession of the strategic point.
"I suppose you're going to marry Doris," she said in a moment of calm, while Romp made good his escape.
Bojo felt himself flushing under the direct child-like gaze.
"I should be very flattered if Doris—"
"Oh, don't talk that way," she said with a fling of her shoulders. "That's like all the others. Tell me, are all New York men such hopeless ninnies? Lord, I'm going to have a dreary time of it." She looked at him critically. "One thing I like about you; you don't wear spats."
"I suppose you're home for the wedding," he asked curiously, "or are you through with the boarding-school?"
"Didn't you hear about this?" she said with a touch to her shortened hair. "They wanted me to come out and I said I wouldn't come out. And when they said I should come out, I said to myself, I'll just fix them so I can't come out, and I hacked off all my hair. That's why they sent me off to Coventry for the summer. I'd have hacked it off again, but Dad cut up so I let it grow, and now the plaguey old fashion has gotten around to bobbed hair. What do you think of that?"