ants to look _human_. As I
say, what's the use of being a millionaire if you've got a shape like
a rainbarrel? I often tell myself, 'Maybe you haven't been given such
a lot of this world's goods as some, Sally Ruth Dexter, but you can
thank your sweet Redeemer you've at least got a Figure!"

The Butterfly Man cast a speculative eye over her generous
proportions.

"Yes'm, you certainly have a whole lot to be thankful for," he agreed,
so wholeheartedly that Miss Sally Ruth laughed.

"Get along with you, you impudent fellow!" said she, in high good
humor. "Go and look at that old scamp of an Inglesby making eyes at a
girl young enough to be his daughter! I heard this morning that Mr.
Hunter has orders to get him, by hook or crook, an invitation to
anything Mary Virginia goes to. I declare, it's scandalous! Come to
think of it, though, I never saw any man yet, no matter how old or
ugly or outrageous he might be, who didn't really believe he stood a
perfectly good chance to win the affections of the handsomest young
woman alive! If you ask _me_, _I_ think George Inglesby had better
join the church and get himself ready to meet his God, instead of
gallivanting around girls. If he feels he has to gallivant, why don't
he pick out somebody nearer his own age?"

"Why should you make him choose mutton when he wants lamb?" asked the
Butterfly Man, unexpectedly.

"Because he's an old bellwether, that's why!" snapped Miss Sally Ruth,
scandalized. "I wonder at Annabelle Eustis allowing him to come near
Mary Virginia, millionaire or no millionaire. I bet you James Eustis
will have something to say, if Mary Virginia herself doesn't!" And she
sailed off again, leaving us, as the saying is, with a bug in the ear.

"Now what in the name of heaven," I wondered, "can Miss Sally Ruth
mean? Mary Virginia ... Inglesby. ... The thing's sacrilegious."

The Butterfly Man rose abruptly. "Suppose we stroll about a bit?" he
suggested.

"I thought," said my mother, when we approached her, "that you had
disobeyed orders, and run away!"

"We were afraid to," said John Flint. "We knew you'd make us go to bed
without supper."

"Did you know," said my mother, hurriedly, for Clelie was making signs
to her, "that George Inglesby is here? The invitation was merely
perfunctory, just sent along with Mr. Hunter's. I never dreamed the
man would accept it. You can't imagine how astonished I was when he
presented himself!"

A few moments later, the B