told us that he was going into the interior of Russia for a month or six weeks, with some other young men. He managed to say to me in a low voice,—
"I must see you before I go. Can you give me an hour in the morning?"
"Come and dine with us," I answered aloud. Tom cordially seconded the invitation, and Mr. Thurber accepted.
I made my toilet before dinner, enveloped myself in a huge shawl, and, provided with a smelling-bottle, went down.
"Tom," said I anxiously, "do I look so very ugly?"
My brother-in-law surveyed me silently, and then expressed himself in the following candid way:—
"Your dress is a stunner, Dorris, and makes you look first-rate from a distance; and I don't suppose any one in the theatre will notice your face. You are pale, though" (reluctantly), "except the tip end of your nose, and your eyelids; and, by Jove!" (sympathetically) "how ill you look! Don't you think you had better stay at home?"
"No," I replied dismally, wrapping my shawl round me again. "I don't care how I look,"—which was as true as such speeches generally are.
After dinner Judith went away to dress, and Tom, with many apologies, took Grace off to their regular weekly occupation of making up accounts. Mr. Thurber and I were left alone.
Suffice it to say that when that interview was ended I found myself pledged to a certain extent. I was sur-
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