“Miss Clinton—is she here?” asked a pleasant voice without.
“Don’t know her—don’t live here,” said Nutty, slamming the door to.
Lotte screamed.
“Open it—open the door!” she cried; “it is my brother Charley.”
In an instant she put Nutty aside, opened the door, and putting her head out, said, hastily—
“Come in, Charley; I am so glad you are here.”
Then followed a sound as of the chirruping of young sparrows. It was Charley and Lotte performing the usual act of grace on meeting each other, it being customary for the pair to kiss a dozen times in rapid succession—a quick fire, painful only to those who don’t participate.
Lotte led forward her brother, a rather smartly-dressed young man, and introduced him to Flora, with a manner which plainly said—“Isn’t he a nice fellow?”
Flora was, however, in no mood for introductions to strangers, she bowed, but did not speak.
“Charley is a lawyer,” said Lotte, triumphantly.