“You’re awful smart, Hilary Lancaster,” grinned Isabel, “who’s telling this?—And they picked out their furniture and he had a dandy job at some school, and she had the love-li-est clothes, and—”
“O, don’t say that he died!” exclaimed Cathalina.
“No, he didn’t,—that was the worst of it.” The girls laughed here.
“Well, which would you rather if you were engaged, have him died and still love you, or have something happen and maybe somebody else get him?”
Nobody seemed to be able to decide the question.
“Just before the time to send out the invitations, something happened. Nobody ever knew what. She wouldn’t say a word, except that the engagement was broken. She went to Europe and studied art and things, and I suppose he went to his old school.”
“You seem to be sure that it was all his fault. Are you so fond of Miss Randolph?”
“Well, I always feel guilty when she’s around, but then that isn’t her fault, and I can’t imagine her ever doing anything wrong.”
“Who told you all that, Isabel? I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Annabel Wright, in the elocution class. Her people came from the same town, in Virginia. Just ask her.”