By morning both ladies had recovered some degree of calmness, but Gertrude obstinately refused to leave her room, or to see any one who might call, even her most intimate friend.
"Tell them I'm sick," she said, "it'll be true enough, for I have an awful headache."
It was to her mother who had been urging her to come down to breakfast, that she was speaking.
"Well, I shall send up a cup of tea," said Mrs. Ross. "But, what is this?" as the maid entered with a note. "It's directed to you, Gertrude."
"From him, I presume," Gertrude said, as the girl went out and closed the door. "Throw it into the fire, mother, or no; I'll send it back unopened."
"It is not his hand," said Mrs. Ross, closely scrutinizing the address.
"Then give it to me, please;" and almost snatching it from her mother's hand, Gertrude tore it open, and glanced hastily over its contents.
"Yes, I'll see him! he'll be here directly; and I must look my best!" she exclaimed, jumping up and beginning to take down her crimps.
"See him? Gertrude, are you mad? Your father will never allow it."
"Mr. Hogg, mother."