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."
Obediently the young man sped to do her bidding, and soon Delight heard
his voice calling from the upper hall.
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