"I'm seventeen!" howled Ruyven, through the key-hole. "Dorothy's not eighteen till next month, the little fool--"
"Don't mind him," said Dorothy, raising her voice for Ruyven's benefit. "A lad who listens to his elders through a key-hole is not fit for serious--"
A heavy assault on the door drowned Dorothy's voice. She waited calmly until the uproar had subsided.
"Let us sit by the window," she said, "and I will tell you how we Varicks stand betwixt the deep sea and the devil."
"I wish to come in!" shouted Ruyven, in a threatening voice. Dorothy laughed, and pointed to a great arm-chair of leather and oak. "I will sit there; place it by the window, cousin."
I placed the chair for her; she seated herself with unconscious grace, and motioned me to bring another chair for myself.
"Are you going to let me in?" cried Ruyven.
"Oh, go to the--" began Dorothy, then flushed and glanced at me, asking pardon in a low voice.
A nice parent, Sir Lupus, with every child in his family ready to swear like Flanders troopers at the first breath!
Half reclining in her chair, limbs comfortably extended, Dorothy crossed her ankles and clasped her hands behind her head, a picture of indolence in every line and curve, from satin shoon to the dull gold of her hair, which, as I have said, the powder scarcely frosted.