"I'm quite sure I've nothing better to do," he said. "I'd suggest,
however, that you let the invitation come from some one in authority.
Your mother, for instance."
"Nonsense," cried the other blithely. "You know you've got a meal
ticket at our house, good for a million punches. Still I'll have
Vivian call you up this afternoon."
"If she wants me, I'll come," said Booth in the most matter-of-fact
way.
Leslie settled down with a secret sigh of relief. He regained his
usual loquaciousness. The points of his little moustache resumed
their uprightness.
"How do you like Sara?" he asked. It was a casual question, with
no real meaning behind it as it was uttered. No sooner had it left
his lips, however, than a new and rather staggering idea entered
his mind,--a small thing at first but one that grew with amazing
swiftness.
"She is splendid," said Booth warmly.
"I thought you'd like her," said Leslie, the idea growing apace:
It did not occur to him that he might be nurturing disloyalty to
the interests of his own sister. Things of that sort never bothered
Leslie. When all was said and done, Vivian had but a slim chance
at best, so why champion a faint hope? "Why don't you do a portrait
of her? It would be a wonderful thing, old chap."
He sat up a trifle straighter in his chair.
"She hasn't asked me to, which is the best reason in the world.
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