"Great Scott!" muttered Clarence under his breath, while Rose flashed a look at Clover.
"Of course," she said, sweetly, "Burmah and Afghanistan and New Zealand and the Congo States would naturally interest you more,—large heathen populations to Christianize and exterminate. There is nothing like fire and sword to establish a bond."
"Oh, I didn't mean that. Of course America is much larger than those countries."
"'Plenty of us such as we are'" quoted the wicked Rose.
"And pretty good what there is of us," added Clover, glad of the appearance of dinner just then to create a diversion.
"That's quite a dreadful little person," remarked Rose, as they stood at the doorway two hours later, watching the guests walk up the trail under the light of a glorious full moon. "Her mind is just one inch across. You keep falling off the edge and hurting yourself. It's sad that she should be your only neighbor. I don't seem to like her a bit, and I predict that you will yet have some dreadful sort of a row with her, Clovy."
"Indeed we shall not; nothing of the kind. She's really a good little thing at bottom; this angularity and stiffness that you object to is chiefly manner. Wait till she has been here long enough to learn the ways and wake up, and you will like her."
"I'll wait," said Rose, dryly. "How much time should you say would be necessary, Clover? A hundred years? I should think it would take at least as long as that."
"Lionel's a dear fellow. We are all very fond of him."
"I can understand your being fond of him easily enough. Imogen! what a name for just that kind of girl. 'Image' it ought to be. What a figure of fun she was in that awful blue gown!"