She broke into a teasing laugh.
"I may not prefer him, but nevertheless I will own he is the most wonderful specimen of masculinity that my eyes have ever beheld. Remember Wilton is a small place, pitifully limited in its outlook, and that I have not traveled the wide world to view the wonders it contains. Hence Mr. Snelling is to me like the Eiffel Tower, the Matterhorn, the tomb of Napoleon, or Fifth Avenue at Easter—something illustrious and novel."
"He is nothing so fine as any of those," snapped Bob.
"Oh, I don't know," was the provoking answer.
Robert Morton bit his lip and moved toward the door, but he had not got further than the sill before she whispered:
"Bob!"
Resolutely he held his peace.
"Please be nice, Bob," she cooed.
Ah, he was back again, but she had retreated behind the tall rocker.
"I suppose," she observed, hurtling the words over Jezebel's sleeping form, "that your aunt will be heartbroken to miss this party. Why don't you run upstairs and let her read the note? Then we can send our regrets when Mr. Snelling goes back to Belleport this noon."