She promptly entered into the spirit of the thing.
“Let’s see,” she cried, gazing thoughtfully about the room, while Helen still clung to her arm. “An excuse—an excuse.”
“No, no,” cried the impetuous Helen. “Not an excuse. I never make any excuse for wanting to be in a man’s company. Besides——”
“Hush, child,” retorted Kate. “How can I think with you chattering? I’ve got to find you an excuse for going across to Charlie’s place. Now what shall it be? I know,” she cried, suddenly darting across the room, followed by the clinging Helen. “I’ve got it.”
“Got what?” cried the other, with difficulty retaining her hold.
“Why, the excuse, of course,” cried Kate, grabbing up two books from a chair under the window. “Here, I promised to send these to Charlie days ago. That’s it,” she went on. “Take these, and,” she added mischievously, “I’ll write a note telling him to be sure and introduce you to Big Brother Bill, as you’re dying to—to make love to him!”
“Don’t you dare, Kate Seton, don’t you ever dare,” cried Helen threateningly. “I’ll shoot you clean up to death with one of your own big guns if you do. I never heard such a thing, never. How dare you say I want to make love to him? I—I don’t think I even want to see him now—I’m sure I don’t. Still, I’ll take the books up if you—really want Charlie to have them. You see, I sure don’t mind what I do to—to help you out.”
Kate’s eyes opened wide. Then, in a moment, she stood convulsed.
“Well, of all the sauce,” she cried. “Helen, you’re a perfect—imp. Now for your pains you shan’t take those books till after supper.”
Helen’s merry eyes sobered, and her face fell.