So when Pickering Dodge, with a radiant face at being sent for by Polly's own hand, ran lightly up the steps of the King mansion, about an hour later, Ben hurried off to find Charlotte Chatterton.
"I can't come down," called Charlotte from the upper hall, "I'm tired; good-night."
"So am I tired," declared Ben, "but I'm going to talk to you,
Charlotte," he added, decidedly.
"No; I don't want to talk," said Charlotte, shaking her head. "Good-night. Thank you, Ben," she added a bit pleasanter, "but I'm not going down."
"Indeed you are!" said Ben obstinately. "I'm not going to stir from this spot," he struck his hand on the stair railing, "until you are down here. Come, Charlotte."
"No," began Charlotte, but the next moment she was on the stairs, saying as she went slowly down, "I don't want to talk, Ben. There isn't anything to say."
"Now that's something like," observed Ben cheerfully, as she reached his side. "Come in here, do, Charlotte," leading the way into Mother Fisher's little sewing-room.
"But I'm not going to talk," reiterated Charlotte, following him in.
"You are going to talk enough so that I can know how to get this ridiculous idea out of your head," said Ben, as he closed the door on them both.
Mr. Cabot hurried into his wife's room, his face lighted with great satisfaction. "Well, Felicia," he said, "I believe I needn't worry about that boy any more."