"You never said a word about any one but Merry," Philip interrupted.
Billy looked vindictively at his friend and then smiled sheepishly.
"I meant all of you, of course. Then Phil tried to jolly me about caring for girls and for Merry in particular—"
"Don't be foolish, Billy!" Merry exclaimed.
"My! but it's hard to tell a story here, but I'm going to do it if I burst a blood-vessel! Uncle Monty agreed with me, and then said that Merry was the finest girl he ever saw. That from him is some praise, because he never cuts in on girls at all; but you've made a hit with him, Merry, and you might as well know it."
"I'm glad he hasn't forgotten me," she said quietly, but the color remained in her face after the conversation turned upon other topics.
"What I said a moment ago isn't 'knocking,' as you call it, Billy," Mrs. Thatcher resumed; "it is experience. We older folk know from what we've seen, and from what we've been through, the dangers young people run during the inflammable age; so we sound the warning. You are at that age now, Billy, so your friends are trying to protect you. Philip apparently hasn't arrived there yet, but he will; and then we'll try to protect him from the idea that the 'only girl' is the one he happens to fancy while the period lasts."
"You're making me look like a flivver!" the boy said with mortification in his voice; "and before Merry, too!"
"No, my dear; you mustn't take it that way. I'm talking no more freely than you have been. We consider you one of the family, so I'm speaking to you just as I would to Philip."
Billy's face was fiery red, but he never flinched in his dogged determination.