"Hello, Sis," returned Elmer nonchalantly. He was a thin,
anaemic-looking young fellow a couple of years younger than Virginia
who affected a swagger and gloves and who had a cough which was
insistent, but which he strove to disguise. And yet Florrie's
hyperbole had not been entirely without warrant. He had something of
Virginia's fine profile, a look of her in his eyes, the stamp of good
blood upon him. He suffered his sister to kiss him, meantime turning
his eyes with a faint sign of interest to the fair girl on the veranda.
Florrie smiled.
"Sis," said Elmer, "this is Mr. Rickard. Mr. Rickard, shake hands with
my sister, Miss Page."
A feeling of pure loathing swept over the girl as she turned to look
into Kid Rickard's sullen eyes and degenerate, cruel face. But, since
the Kid was a couple of paces removed and was slow about coming
forward, not so much as raising his hand to his wide hat, she nodded at
him and managed to say a quiet, non-committal, "How do you do?" Then
she slipped her arm through Elmer's.
"Come, Elmer," she said hastily. "I want you to know Miss Florence
Engle; she is a sort of cousin of ours."
"Sure," said Elmer off-handedly. "Come on, Rickard."
But the Kid, standing upon no ceremony, had drawn his hat a trifle
lower over his eyes and turned his shoulder upon them, continuing along
the street in his slouching walk.
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