thought of Fenwick for a name, and all this trouble would have been averted.
One evening, when I was moping in my room, Nancy came up.
“There’s a gentleman in the parlor asking for you, Miss Charlotte.”
My heart just gave one horrible bounce.
“What — sort of a gentleman, Nancy?” I faltered.
“I think it’s that Fenwick man that there’s been such a time about,” said Nancy, who didn’t know anything about my imaginary escapades, “and he looks to be mad clean through about something, for such a scowl I never seen.”
“Tell him I’ll be down directly, Nancy,” I said quite calmly.
As soon as Nancy had clumped downstairs again I put on my lace fichu and put two hankies in my belt, for I thought I'd probably need more than one. Then I hunted up an old Advocate for proof, and down I went to the parlor. I know exactly how a criminal feels going to execution, and I’ve been opposed to capital punishment ever since.
I opened the parlor door and went in, carefully closing it behind me, for Nancy has a deplorable habit of listening in the hall. Then my legs gave out completely, and I couldn’t have walked another
