am I not as good as engaged to Chilton Thurber? George would never ask me to marry him, because he considers me pledged; yet it would seem as if he meant to imply that I had encouraged his attentions. Well, I give up trying to understand him, but I am very glad that I am not in love with him.
While I was pondering over these various perplexing thoughts, and losing my good spirits, to say nothing of my temper, my revery was broken by Tom, who was saying,—
"Thurber will not have much time with us if he does not come to-day."
"Do you expect him?" I cried, angry with myself that I could not drive back the blood which rushed in a torrent to my face.
"Surely, Dorris, you heard me say that I had written him when we were to be here!" Tom replied in an injured tone.
They were all standing about me, and I felt the necessity for restraining the impatient words which were ready to drop from my lips. Forcing the blandest possible smile, I said, as I turned towards the door,—
"How delightful to have him here with us!"
"I don't know about that," grumbled Tom. "We can't stay forever waiting for him."
"Perhaps you had better send him a telegram at once," interposed George. "He may not have received the letter."
"Perhaps," I exclaimed, in a tone which, though carefully modulated, thrilled with vexation, "we had
