“Oh, I do not regard you at all––as yet,” she bantered. “But of course I could not expect you to know that Daddy’s sister is one of the Sacred Thirty-six.”
“Sacred––? Is that one of the orders of nuns?”
“None whatever,” she punned. In the same moment 26 she drew a most solemn looking face. “My deah Mistah Ashton, I will have you to understand my reference was to that most select coterie which comprises Denver’s Real Society.”
“Indeed!” he said, with a subtle alteration in his tone and manner. “You say that your aunt is one of––”
“My aunt by adoption,” she corrected.
“Adoption?”
“I am not Daddy’s natural daughter. He adopted me,” explained the girl in her frank way.
“Yes?” asked Ashton, plainly eager to learn more of her history.
Without seeming to observe this, she adroitly balked his curiosity––“So, you see, Daddy’s sister is only my aunt by adoption. Still, she has been very, very good to me; though I love Daddy and this free outdoor life so much that I insist on coming back home every spring.”
“Ah, yes, I see,” he replied. “Really, Miss Knowles, you must think me a good deal of a dub.”