“He isn’t a flirt at all,” replied Lucia, sharply. “You ought to have learned, even in the country, that Philip Hayn is in earnest in whatever he says or does.” “Oh, dear!” moaned Margie; “I don’t want countrymen making love to my sister.” “I tell you again, Margie, that he’s simply a splendid gentleman,--the handsomest and most stylish of all whom Agnes Dinon invited,--and I won’t have him abused when he’s been so kind to me.” “Lu,” said Margie, turning so as to give one of Lucia’s shoulders a vigorous shake, “I believe you think Phil Hayn is in love with you!” “What else can I think?” said Lucia, without moving her head. Her sister looked at her in silence a moment, and replied,-- “A good deal more, you dear little wretch: you can think you’re in love with him, and, what is more, you are thinking so this very minute. Confess, now!” Lucia was silent; she did not move her head, except to press it deeper into the pillow, nor did she change her gaze from the wall on the opposite side of the room: nevertheless, she manifested undoubted signs of guilt. Her sister bent over her, embraced her, covered her cheek with kisses, and called her tender names, some of which had been almost unheard since nursery days. When at last Lucia allowed her eyes to be looked into, her sister took both her hands, looked roguish, and said,-- “Say, Lu, how does it feel to be in love? Is it anything like what novels tell about?” “Don’t ask me,” exclaimed Lucia, “or I shall have a fit of crying right away.” “Well, I’ll let you off--for a little while, if you’ll tell me how it feels to have your hand kissed.” “It feels,” said Lucia, meditatively, “as if something rather heavy was pressing upon your glove.” “Ah, you’re real mean!” protested the younger girl. “But what will papa and mamma say? And how are you going to get rid of Mr. Marge? I give you warning that you needn’t turn him over to me when I come out. I detest him.” “I don’t want to get rid of him,” said Lucia, becoming suddenly very sober. “Of course I couldn’t marry Phil if he were to ask me,--not if he’s going to stay poor and live out of the world.” “But you’re not going to be perfectly awful, and marry one man while you love another?”