"Do you mean to tell me that Miss Rogers has accepted you?" inquired Clem harshly.
This name completely unmanned poor Quimby, and he began to cry like a school-boy.
"Miss Rogers!—No! never—never! but she—Celeste!"
"Celeste!" echoed Clem; "Celeste!"
"Yes! I—oh!—I made a mistake, you know!" explained Quimby, wiping his eyes on the bed-spread.
An irresistible smile, but quickly suppressed, curved Clem's lips as he asked,
"But how could you possibly make such a mistake as that? Come, cheer up, my boy, tell me, and let me help you out!"
Quimby looked at him mournfully.
"It—it was dark," he answered dejectedly, "she sat in the chair—the lost Nattie I mean, it was she, for she spoke to me! Why did I not seize the chance then? But no! I left her to—to rehearse a little first, and when I returned—Oh!—it was still dark, and I did not know a transformation had been effected—I burst forth in eloquence, and—oh!—it was Celeste, you know! I fled—she followed,—caught and hugged me in the hall! Her father saw—roared 'Marry her!' and I—there was no escape, you know!"
