"Oh, I see!" she cried, dropping me a little curtsey; "and I thank you kindly!"
The letter was from an old friend of mine—a school-mate—and it was an invitation to Sophia, begging her to take a day off, as the saying is, and spend it in Shady Dale.
"Your children," the letter said, "will be glad to visit their father's old home, and I doubt not we can make it interesting for the wife." The letter closed with some prettily turned compliments which rather caught Sophia. But her suspicions were still in full play.
"I know the invitation is sent on your account, and not on mine," she said, holding the letter at arm's length.
"Well, why not? If my old friend loves me well enough to be anxious to give my wife and children pleasure, what is there wrong about that?"
"Oh, nothing," replied Sophia. "I've a great mind to go."
"If you do, my dear, you will make a number of people happy—yourself and the children, and many of my old friends."
"He declares," said Sophia, "that he writes at the request of his wife. You know how much of that to believe."
"I certainly do. Imagine me, for instance, inviting to visit us a lady whom you had never met."
Whereupon Sophia laughed. "I believe you'd endorse any proposition that came from Shady Dale," she declared.