“But they will after awhile,” answered the young lady with a slight toss of her head. “You—you’re the wedge.”
“The what?” gasped Cal.
“The wedge, the entering wedge. Aunt Lydia has been watching us out of the sewing-room window for a long time, and she will tell Aunt Matilda and Aunt Matilda will scold. Then I shall tell her what a nice, polite boy you are and that you invited me to play tennis with you—”
“I didn’t!” cried Cal indignantly.
“But you’re going to,” returned Molly calmly.
“I’m not either! I—I don’t play tennis.”
“Never mind. You’ll take me over some day and one of the other boys will show me how.”
“I guess girls aren’t allowed at West House,” said Cal desperately.
“Oh, fiddle! You don’t guess anything of the sort.”
“Well, anyhow, I won’t have anything to do with it,” declared Cal with decision. Molly looked regretful.