“How could I help it, my dear? You know very well I would have been willing to chain him to his chair to keep him here till you came! I did my best--made talk, and tried to hold him, but after an hour he pleaded an engagement and hurried away.” “But he will come again. Surely he will! Of course you asked--made him promise?” cried Jessie, wildly. “Yes, oh yes, but he did not say he would. He only came, he said, to return some negatives you loaned him to make pictures from--the ones you took with your own camera in the mountains last summer.” “Oh, yes, I remember--Uncle Hermann’s picturesque old stone mansion, and some mountains and river views taken from the bridge at Alderson.” “Yes, and some pictures, too, of that hoidenish girl, Leola. I wish you had left those out, Jessie.” “Why, really, mamma, I forgot they were in the negative book, for I didn’t mean to show them to Chester. Not that I could be jealous of a wild thing like Leola Mead, but because I promised her no one should see them. There was that one of her wading in the creek, you know, and another in bloomers sitting astride her white pony Rex, and another in hunting costume, rifle on her shoulder. Really, she wasn’t pretty in any of the negatives, except her white evening gown with the lilies on her shoulder.” “Yes, he said that was lovely, and the others, too, and he asked no end of questions about her, and where she lived. He pretended to be anxious to see the scenery, but I guess it was Leola more than anything else. Men are so sly!” “And you, mamma, what did you tell him?” Jessie asked, anxiously. “Oh, I told him we should be glad to have him visit Wheatlands some time when we were there with my half brother, but I made up my mind he should never go there till you were safely his wife.” “Good, mamma, though, really, I cannot look upon Leola Mead seriously as a rival. Why, she is only a simple country girl, with no style or good clothes at all.” “But dangerously pretty, Jessie, don’t forget that!--and as for style, well, she is graceful and dashing as any girl I ever saw, and there’s no telling what might happen if they met. Anyhow, he just plied me with eager questions about the girl, and I could see he was almost fascinated by her pictures. Of course I did not encourage him any. I said she was my half brother’s ward, and presumably of low origin, as he was reticent about her birth, and said she had not a friend in the world but himself. I enlarged on her rude manners and hoidenish ways, and said she was not nearly as pretty as the pictures.” “When in reality she is ten times prettier,” laughed Jessie. “So you are right. He must never see Leola Mead until I am his wife. I shall write him a sweet little note pretending he has lost one of the negatives, and ask him to call again.”