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Updated: June 14, 2025
"I don't know how you were raised," Miss Voscoe went on, "but I guess it was in the pretty sheltered home life. Now I'd bet you fell in love with the first man that said three polite words to you!" "I'm not twenty yet," said Betty, with ears and face of scarlet. "Oh, you mean I'm to think nobody's had time to say those three polite words yet?
If there was a pang, Betty pretended to herself that there was none. If Vernon's conscience fluttered him he was able to soothe it; it was an art that he had studied for years. "Say, you two!" The voice of Miss Voscoe fell like a pebble into the pool of silence that was slowly widening between them. "Say we're going to start a sketch-club for really reliable girls.
"Why, how not to be able to do without him, of course," said Miss Voscoe. "You're quite mistaken," said Betty eagerly: "one of the reasons I don't mind going about with him so much is that he's engaged to be married." "Acquainted with the lady?" "Yes," said Betty, sheltering behind the convention that an introduction at a tea-party constitutes acquaintanceship.
"I'm hanged if you do!" said Temple. "You proposed me yourself, and I'm elected aren't I, Miss Voscoe?" "That's so," said she; "but Mr. Vernon's president too." "I've long been struggling with the conviction that Temple and I were as brothers. Now I yield Temple, to my arms!" They embraced, elegantly, enthusiastically, almost as Frenchmen use; and the room applauded the faithful burlesque.
Your girls always marry the wrong man, don't they, because he's the first and only one they've ever had the privilege of conversing with?" "Not quite always, I hope," said Betty good humouredly. "Now in our country," Miss Voscoe went on, "girls look around so as they can tell there's more different sorts of boys than there are of squashes.
and realised that her circle of American acquaintances was widening. When Miss Voscoe paused with her before the group of which Temple and Vernon formed part Betty felt as though her face had swelled to that degree that her eyes must, with the next red wave, start out of her head. The two hands, held out in successive greeting, gave Miss Voscoe the key to Betty's flushed entrance.
He made himself wait till the Sketch Club afternoon made himself wait, indeed, till all the sketches were criticised till the last cup of tea was swallowed, or left to cool the last cake munched the last student's footfall had died away on the stairs, and he and Miss Voscoe were alone among the scattered tea-cups, blackened bread-crumbs and torn paper. Then he put his question.
She was glad Miss Voscoe had not asked her if she knew Lady St. Craye. "Oh, well" Miss Voscoe jumped up and shook the flakes of pastry off her pinafore "if she doesn't mind, I guess I've got no call to. But why don't you give that saint in the go-to-hell collar a turn?" "Meaning?" "Mr. Temple. He admires you no end. He'd be always in your pocket if you'd let him.
He folds up mighty small, and gets into less space than a poppy-seed." "What do you mean?" asked Betty again. "I mean that Vernon chap," said Miss Voscoe down-rightly. "I told you to change partners every now and then. But with you it's that Vernon this week and last week and the week after next." "I've known him longer than I have the others, and I like him," said Betty.
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