"Very sincerely yours,
"VIRGINIA WALTON ROWLAND."
Virginia met her aunt at the foot of the stairs, and, slipping an arm
about her waist, laughed nervously.
"Well, my dear, to-night we entertain the tug-boat hero. It's horrid
to feel so, but do you know I wish I had suggested to father that we
have the dinner on one of his vessels. Do you remember last Fall, what
fun it was? I have the impression, don't you know, that things would
be less strained than here. He would find the atmosphere more
adaptable."
"He? Oh, the tugman," laughed her aunt. "I shouldn't worry if I were
you."
"I'm not worrying about that," protested the girl; "but oh, I don't
know--I hate to have the success of a dinner in the air, especially
when you have a sort of reputation in that way, don't you know."
"Nonsense," replied the older woman, glancing admiringly at the tall,
lithe girl in her white evening gown as she moved through the
drawing-room to the dining-room, where the butler was adding the final
deft fillips to a centrepiece of roses, in which a candy yacht was
sinking.
"You see," said the girl, pointing to a dinner card bearing Merrithew's
name, "I am going to place him between you and me. Will you--won't you
arrange things so he'll take you in. No; never mind! I'll arrange
that--you're always such a dear about such things, and you won't mind,
will you?"
"Certainly not," smiled her aunt, "I shall ask him to tow me in.
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