"Charlotte, why, what are you doing out here?" exclaimed Ben, leaving his key in the lock to look at her.
"Don't speak!" begged Charlotte hastily, and coming up to him. "Somebody will hear you. I came out here to walk up and down—I shall die in that house; and I am going home to-morrow." She nervously twisted her handkerchief around her fingers, and Ben still looking at her closely, saw that she had been crying.
"Charlotte, what are you talking about?" he cried, opening his honest blue eyes wide at her. "Why, I thought you had ever so much sense, and that you were way ahead of other girls, except Polly," he added, quite as a matter of course.
"Don't!" cried Charlotte, wincing, and, "but I shall go home to-morrow."
"Look here," Ben took out his key and tucked it into his pocket, then faced Charlotte, "take a turn up and down, Charlotte; you'll pull out of your bad fit; you're homesick." Ben's honest face glowed with pity as he looked at her.
"I'm—I'm everything," said Charlotte desperately. "O, Ben, you can't think," she seized his arm, "Polly is just having a dreadful time because I'm here."
"See here, now," said Ben, taking the hand on his arm in a strong grip, as if it were Polly's, "don't you go to getting such an idea into your head, Charlotte."
"I can't help it," said Charlotte; "it was put there," she added bitterly.
Ben gave a start of surprise. "Well, you are not the sort of girl to believe such stuff, any way," he said.
Charlotte pulled away her hand. "I'm going home," she declared flatly.