What in the world am I
to do with him? Are you an orphan?" she asked with guileful curiosity.
"No," said Philip.
"I'm sorry," said Diane maliciously. "For then I could take out papers
of adoption--"
"I'll stay without them," promised Philip. And Diane added wood to the
fire with cheeks like the scarlet sunset.
"I'm going to send for my aunt," she announced a few days later.
"Yes?" said Philip.
"Unconventionality of any sort shocks her dreadfully. Like as not
she'll faint dead away at the sight of you domiciled in my camp as if
you own it. She'll see that you go."
"Better not," advised Philip.
"Why?"
"I'll produce credentials proving I'm a reputable victim of
circumstances. I'll suggest that in complete concurrence with her I
deem it unsafe for a young and attractive girl to tour about the
country--and that I do not feel that I can conscientiously depart.
Between the two of us you'll likely have a most uncomfortable hour or
so."
Aunt Agatha was impressionable. It needed but a spark of concurrence
to arouse her dreadfully. Diane dismissed the project.
"I think," she said hopefully, "that you'll most likely go to-night."
"In any circumstances," said Philip easily, "I fear that would be
impossible.
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