"That new man hasn't brought back the veranda chairs since he swept here," now remarked Mrs. Ffolliott. "I wish you'd tell him—"
"Yes, I will, presently," replied the girl. "Shall I read this to you now? She's coming home."
"Coming home!"
"Yes. Here's what she says: 'My dear old fellow—'"
"Does she call you that?" interrupted Mrs. Ffolliott.
There was a slight smile on the girl's face as she answered:
"Yes; she seems to mean me."
"Oh, dear! Well, it's just like her. But then, anything is just like her. Go on, please."
"'My dear old fellow,'" again began Carolyn, "'I suppose there is stuff that martyrs are made of, but none of that stuff got into my make-up, so I don't mean ever to pose for that sort of thing. That is, never again; but I've been doing it for the last four weeks.