we ought to have some dinner, Mother, and then talk at the table."
"Of course, of course," agreed motherly Mrs. Littell. "The poor child must be famished. Take Betty—you don't mind if I call you Betty, do you, dear?—up to your room, Bobby, and when you come down dinner will be served."
"But my uncle!" urged Betty. "He will be so worried. And the other girl—where do you suppose she is?"
"By George, the child has more sense than I have," said Mr. Littell energetically. "I'd give a fortune if Bobby had half as level a head. Our Betty is probably having hysterics in the station if she hasn't taken the next train back to Vermont."
His keen eyes twinkled appreciatively at Betty, and she knew that she liked him and also sensed instinctively that his eldest daughter was very like him.
"Why, Father, how you do talk!" reproved Mrs. Littell comfortably. "I'll call up the station while the girls are upstairs and then Betty shall call the Willard, or you do it for her, and then perhaps we can eat dinner before the soufflé is quite ruined."
The girls took Betty upstairs to a luxurious suite of rooms they shared, and when she had bathed her face and hands and brushed her hair, they came down to find that Mr. Littell had called
