As he and Douglas neared Prospect Point Donald’s thoughts turned to the girl of yesterday. “She was haughty as a princess.” Unwittingly he had spoken his musings aloud.
“I was talking to myself,” laughed Donald.
“Bad sign! You are either in love or old age has overtaken you. Too bad!” Douglas wagged his head sadly.
“I may as well tell you,” confided Donald; “I saw a Greek goddess mounted on an Arabian charger here yesterday.”
Douglas threw out his hands tragically. “Donald, my poor friend! I am afraid that I hit you too hard in that last round,” he said in a voice of mock compassion.
Donald stopped short. “Look!” he cried, pointing excitedly, “there she is!”
The girl sat gracefully erect on the big horse, gazing down at the rushing tide.
“Don’t blame you, but isn’t she a peach?” said Donald admiringly.
Douglas burst out laughing. “Do you know who that is?” he asked with a peculiar inflection.
“That’s my sister Janet,” interrupted Douglas.
Donald’s mouth opened. He stared at his friend. “Your _what_?” he exploded.
“Oh, I forgot! Poor fellow!” said Douglas, solicitously, as his face assumed a mournful expression. “I’ll certainly have to pull my punches hereafter.” He leaned toward Donald and placed his lips close to his ear. “S-i-s-t-e-r,” he spelled slowly. “Does the old bean grasp it?”
“Cut the comedy,” growled Donald as he jerked Douglas to the side of the road out of sight of the equestrienne. “Good heavens! Your sister!” he groaned, “and she thinks I am a masher.”
Donald told him of yesterday’s occurrence.
“This is great!” chuckled Douglas. “Come and meet my sister, Donald. I’ll tell her that you can’t help flirting, and that will fix things up all right. I’ll call her.” He grinned facetiously.
Douglas avoided Donald’s wild clutch, ran to the centre of the road and waved his arm.
Donald shook an angry fist at his tormentor and sprang to the shelter of the trees. There was a thud of hoofs, a spattering of gravel, and the sound of creaking leather.
“What in the world are you doing here in that dress, Doug?” asked Janet.
“Janet,” said her brother in a low, mysterious voice, “I’ve got the fellow that tried to flirt with you yesterday; he’s in there.” He pointed to the bush. “The poor fellow is a confirmed flirt; has it in its worst form. I beg of you, Sister, be lenient, be merciful. He thinks you are a Greek goddess.” He tapped his forehead significantly.