"No, Cornelia, I don't want you to go with me. I don't need you, I've got to go alone."
"Upon my word, I think you're acting mighty queer. I just believe, Abbie Brainard, that you are going out to meet somebody—you, of all people!"
Abbie started. "Supposing I am?" she stammered.
"Who is it?" asked Cornelia, peremptorily. Only an extremely eager interest would have made her take this tone with Abbie. "Well, I must say, I think your father is a little too bad. Why can't he see that girls have got to be girls? First it's Mayme and now it's—"
"Cornelia!" cried Abbie, with a violent blush and the trembling voice that foreshadows tears. "It's my brother! It's Marcus!"
"Marcus!" exclaimed Cornelia. "Then I am going, sure. Where are you to meet him—in the park?"
Abbie bowed assent.
"Well, then, you wait one second. I'll he right out again."
"Don't come. He won't speak to me if he sees anybody with me."
"I can stand around somewhere—I won't do any harm."