marshmallows which had been saved until Betty should come over; and she added that it would be a very good plan to go into the house and devour them. Over the flabby and inane confection with[109] which the two friends regaled themselves, it was arranged that Dora should devote herself with Machiavelian shrewdness to bringing about a reconciliation between Frank Bradford and his betrothed, Flora Sturtevant, whose quarrel had led to the invitation which had involved Betty in her present difficulties. In the meantime, Mistress Mork was to give herself with great assiduity to the practice of cutting, volleying, and such devices of skill or cunning as would make possible the realization of her bold plan of conquering Mr. Granton in the tennis tournament, over which all the young people were just then much excited. [109] These conclusions were not reached without much digression, circumlocution, and irrelevant discourse upon various matters, with a good deal of consideration of the dress which would be both convenient and becoming for the important games. “I have almost a mind to try a divided skirt,” Betty said thoughtfully. “George saw one at a tournament in England, and it could be fixed so as not— Oh, Dora, if George were only here! He knows all the new English rules and cuts, and all sorts of quirks. Oh, why did you have to quarrel with him just now? Now I shall lose my[110] tennis just because you drove him away from Maugus.” [110] “Why, Betty Mork! You said yourself you wouldn’t stand his lordly ways; you know you did.” “Of course,” returned her friend illogically; “but we both agreed that you’d have to make up with him some time; and I didn’t know then that I should want him.” “But what could I do?” demanded Dora, divided between a sense of being deserted by her friend and a desire to have difficulties smoothed over. “Any girl with decent pride would have had to send George away. You know how I hated to do it.” “But you might send for him now.” “Oh, I couldn’t. That would be too awfully humiliating. I wonder you can propose it.” “Men are so dreadful,” sighed Betty. The two forlorn victims of masculine perversity pensively ate marshmallows in silence for a moment, revolving, no doubt,
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