“Mr. Morpeth,” said Miss Flossy solemnly, “I’m two years behind the time-table, and I’ve got to make a strike for liberty, or die. And besides,” she added, “if you are _nice_, it needn’t be such an _awful_ trouble.” Mr. Morpeth laughed. “I’ll try to make it as little of a bore as possible,” he said, extending his hand. The girl did not take it. “Don’t make any mistake,” she cautioned him, searching his face with her eyes; “this isn’t to be any little-girl affair. Little Sister doesn’t want any kind, elegant, supercilious encouragement from Big Sister’s young man. It’s got to be a _real_ flirtation--devotion no end, and ten times as much as ever Pauline could get out of you--and you’ve got to keep your end ’way--’way--’way up!” The young man smiled. “I’ll keep my end up,” he said; “but are you certain that you can keep yours up?” “Well, I think so,” replied Miss Flossy. “Pauline will raise an awful row; but if she goes too far, I’ll tell my age, _and hers, too_.” Mr. Morpeth looked in Miss Flossy’s calm face. Then he extended his hand once more. “It’s a bargain, so far as I’m concerned,” he said. This time a soft and small hand met his with a firm, friendly, honest pressure. “And I’ll refuse you,” said Miss Flossy. * * * * * Within two weeks, Mr. Morpeth found himself entangled in a flirtation such as he had never dreamed of. Miss Flossy’s scheme had succeeded only too brilliantly. The whole hotel was talking about the outrageous behavior of “that little Belton girl” and Mr. Morpeth, who certainly ought to know better. Mr. Morpeth had carried out his instructions. Before the week was out, he found himself giving the most lifelike imitation of an infatuated lover that ever delighted the old gossips of a summer resort. And yet he had only done what Flossy told him to do. He got his first lesson just about the time that Flossy, in the privacy of their apartments, informed her elder sister that if she, Flossy, found Mr. Morpeth’s society agreeable, it was nobody’s concern but her own, and that she was prepared to make some interesting additions to the census statistics if any one thought differently. The lesson opened his eyes. “Do you know,” she said, “that it wouldn’t be a bit of a bad idea to telegraph to New York for some real nice candy and humbly present it for my acceptance? I _might_ take it--if the bonbonnière was pretty enough.” He telegraphed to New York, and received, in the course of four or five days, certain marvels of sweets in a miracle of an upholstered box. The next day he found her on the veranda, flinging the bonbons on the lawn for the children to scramble for. “Awfully nice of you to send me these things,” she said languidly, but loud enough for the men around her to hear,--she had men around her already: she had been discovered,--“but I never eat sweets, you know. Here, you little mite in the blue sash, don’t you want this pretty box to put your doll’s clothes in?”