"I
suppose I just wanted a little support, or even some encouragement. I
don't propose to let Myrtle walk off with David and not turn my hand.
Of course I am not a beauty, but then I'm not a ninny, either. And I
have a prettier figure; that is, it will still be pretty in ten or
fifteen years; Myrtle's soft."
"Good heavens," he exclaimed, half serious, "what Indians you all are!"
"I'm quite shameless," she admitted, "and this is really what I
thought--you can, perhaps, help me sometimes, I don't know how, but he
will be out here a lot, men talk together--"
"And I can tell him that Myrtle is an utterly untrustworthy person who
would make him ultimately miserable. I'll remind him that her beauty is
no deeper than he sees it. But that Caroline there, admirable girl,
seething with affection in a figure warranted against time or
accident--" her expression brought his banter to an end. He studied her
seriously, revolved what she had said. She was right about Myrtle, who
was undoubtedly a vain and silly little fish. His father's immoderate
admiration for her had puzzled him as well as the elder sister. He
remembered that never had he heard their mother express a direct opinion
of Myrtle; but neither had Isabel Penny shown the slightest question of
her husband's high regard for their youngest child.
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