“And about four months for me,” said Kathleen.
“But eight years for me,” cried Nora, “and she has never missed writing me every week, except once when she had the mumps, and she made her father write that week. Now we shall have to take our old democrat to meet her, the awful old thing,” said Nora in a tone of disgust.
“Jane won't mind if it is a hayrack,” said Larry.
“No, but her father. He's such a swell. I hate meeting him with that old bone cart. But we can't help it. Oh, I am just nutty over her coming. I wonder what she's like?”
“Why, she's the same old Jane,” said Larry. “That's one immense satisfaction about her. She is always the same, no matter when, how or where you meet her. There's never a change in Jane.”
“I wonder if she has improved—got any prettier, I mean.”
“Prettier! What the deuce are you talking about?” said Larry indignantly. “Prettier! Like a girl that is! You never think of looks when you see Jane. All you see is just Jane and her big blue eyes and her smile. Prettier! Who wants her prettier?”
“Oh, all right, Larry. Don't fuss. She IS plain-looking, you know. But she is such a good sort. I must tell Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.”
“Do,” said Larry, “and be sure to ask her for her car.”
Nora made a face at him, but ran to the 'phone and in an ecstatic jumble of words conveyed the tremendous news to the lady at the other end of the wire and to all the ears that might be open along the party line.