Montague had to meet her advances; so had not much time to speculate as to what the term “side partner” might be supposed to convey. Betty was a radiant little creature, dressed in a robe of deep crimson, made of some soft and filmy and complicated material; there was a crimson rose in her hair, and a living glow of crimson in her cheeks. She was bright and quick, like a butterfly, full of strange whims and impulses; mischievous lights gleamed in her eyes and mischievous smiles played about her adorable little cherry lips. Some strange perfume haunted the filmy dress, and completed the bewilderment of the intended victim.
“I have a letter of introduction to a Mr. Wyman in New York,” said Montague. “Perhaps he is a relative of yours.”
“Is he a railroad president?” asked she; and when he answered in the affirmative, “Is he a railroad king?” she whispered, in a mocking, awe-stricken voice, “Is he rich—oh, rich as Solomon—and is he a terrible man, who eats people alive all the time?”
“Yes,” said Montague—“that must be the one.”
“Well,” said Betty, “he has done me the honour to be my granddaddy; but don’t you take any letter of introduction to him.”
“Why not?” asked he, perplexed.
“Because he’ll eat you,” said the girl. “He hates Ollie.”
“Dear me,” said the other; and the girl asked, “Do you mean that the boy hasn’t said a word about me?”
“No,” said Montague—“I suppose he left it for you to do.”
“Well,” said Betty, “it’s like a fairy story. Do you ever read fairy stories? In this story there was a princess—oh, the most beautiful princess! Do you understand?”