“I have concluded that we are not at all suited to each other, Mr. Warfield,” said Erma when he again made his offer of marriage.
A swift look of relief crossed Fred’s expressive features, and any lingering idea that he really cared for her fled from Erma’s mind.
The next day she went to take tea at “My Lady’s Manor,” and Hilda rejoiced at heart that she was not a love-lorn damsel, but was, as usual, bright and cheerful.
“Fred seemed pleased with your friend Anita,” remarked Hilda as the two were seated in the shaded veranda while Mrs. Warfield and the children were taking their afternoon rest.
“Not pleased only, but captivated. He is certainly in love now, if never before.”
“But Erma, dear, if you care for Fred, was it wise to invite your beautiful friend to visit you at this time?”
A smile, as if the question had called up some pleasant remembrance, hovered upon the lips of Erma, and Hilda’s heart grew so light that she laughed gleefully.
“Tell me, my Erma,” she said, assuming a tragic air, “pour out the secrets of that heart into my faithful bosom.”
“I will, oh friend of my childhood!” laughed Erma; then with tears of feeling in her eyes she added, “Oh, Hilda, how grateful I am every hour since Anita’s visit that I was willing to agree with papa and mamma’s advice to invite her to visit me at this time.”
“The advice of Uncle and Aunt Merryman?” exclaimed Hilda in surprise.