"We ran over to Paris last year. It's lovely, don't you think? Don't you love the Rue de la Paix?"
Penrod wandered in a labyrinth. This girl seemed to be talking, but her words were dumfounding, and of course there was no way for him to know that he was really listening to her mother. It was his first meeting with one of those grown-up little girls, wonderful product of the winter apartment and summer hotel; and Fanchon, an only child, was a star of the brand. He began to feel resentful.
"I suppose," she went on, "I'll find everything here fearfully Western. Some nice people called yesterday, though. Do you know the Magsworth Bittses? Auntie says they're charming. Will Roddy be at your party?"
"I guess he will," returned Penrod, finding this intelligible. "The mutt!"
"Really!" Fanchon exclaimed airily. "Aren't you great pals with him?"
"What's 'pals'?"
"Good heavens! Don't you know what it means to say you're 'great pals' with any one? You are an odd child!"
It was too much.
"Oh, Bugs!" said Penrod.
