“She’s different from all of us, except that I think she must be like what mother was at her age, only more—more of a mischief. The truth is, Charlotte is dreadfully spoiled. We all spoil her, and no matter what she does we laugh and say, ‘O, it’s just Charlotte!’—except mother, and mother takes her too seriously, and that just makes her try to be more provoking. She had it in for Billy last night. Did she make him wish he’d never been born?”
“She didn’t stop with Billy!” Hardaker exclaimed, shutting his jaws with a snap.
His companion laughed. “Did she visit her displeasure on you too? She made a sort of half threat at supper about making you promise to vote for Buchanan. I wonder if she did!” Rhoda teased, her face rippling with smiles.
Horace looked full into her laughing face, then turned his eyes suddenly to the front. “Hang it all, Rhoda,” he broke out, “I must tell you about it, though I’m afraid you’ll despise me afterward. The truth is,—I suppose—I’m engaged to Charlotte!”
“What! You!” she ejaculated, her eyes wide with amazement.
“Yes—I suppose so—something of the sort. Anyway, I made love to her”—his face was a deep rose color and his eyes downcast—“pretty violent love, I guess—at least I felt that way—and—well, the upshot was that I suppose Charlotte considers that we’re engaged. Oh, I know what you’ll think of me, but I can’t help it now. I’ll just stand up and take my medicine.”
As Rhoda listened, varying expressions flitted across her face. Once, when Hardaker stole a sidewise glance at her he saw there the stern look her father wore when deeply displeased, and his heart sank. But he went on stoutly. As he finished her lips were twitching, then the corners of her mouth went up, and she laughed aloud. At the sound of her merriment he looked relieved, and laughed a little too, though in a shamefaced way.
“Forgive me, Horace!” Rhoda gasped. “Don’t think me unsympathetic—but it was so like Charlotte!” And she broke into another peal of laughter.
“I don’t quite know what made me do it!” he pursued. “Charlotte is a pretty girl, and good company, and I like her well enough, but—you’ll excuse me, Rhoda—I don’t exactly approve of her, and heaven knows I don’t want to marry her. That is, I don’t this morning, in cold blood. Last night—well, last night, I felt different.”
“Exactly!” agreed Rhoda. “I understand. Charlotte usually can make a man ‘feel different’ when she tries. And I guess she must have tried real hard last night!”