"Yes, that's just it," ruminated Charlotte, bringing up her hands to hold her head with, "I think we are in a tight place, Dr. Fisher."
"Hum, that may be," assented the little man, "I like tight places. Now, then, Charlotte, how do you say begin?"
Charlotte sat lost in thought for a minute, then she said, "Any way, I think it would be best for us to get up something very simple, so long as we are beginners."
"I think so too," agreed Dr. Fisher, "so that's settled. Now for the first thing; what do you say we should do, Charlotte?"
"How would it do," asked Charlotte suddenly, "to invite everybody after they have gotten over the first of the home-coming—after dinner, I mean—into the drawing-room, and then tell them that we are not smart enough to think up things, and ask them to give a recitation apiece, or something of that sort?"
"Charlotte Chatterton!" exclaimed the little doctor, cramming his hands into the side pockets of his office coat and staring at her.
"I am ashamed of you! that would be shabby enough—not so bad either," he added quickly, a sudden thought striking him, "as you'll do your part in singing."
"Oh! I couldn't sing," cried Charlotte, drawing back into her shell of coldness again, "they don't any of them care for it; they've heard me so much," she finished, trying to smooth her refusal over.
"You'll sing," declared the little doctor decidedly, "we could never be tired of hearing you; and for the rest, I have a notion that this might suit. See here," and he threw himself into his office chair, and looked Charlotte squarely in the face, "why not ask Alexia and Cathie and the others, to take hold and get up some fandango—eh?"
Charlotte caught herself on the edge of saying "No," then drew a long breath and said, "Well," trying not to seem indifferent over the plan.