“I had almost forgotten that myself,” said Sarah, “until he came to call yesterday. I knew him years ago when I was a young girl; we went to school together. He was a nice boy, but I never had much to do with him; boys never cared for me as they did for other girls. At any rate, he came to see us yesterday. He lives in Idaho; he’s been out there for a dozen years, and he says he’s pretty well off.”
“Well,” said Bertha expectantly, as the other stopped, “what does he look like?”
“Oh, he’s pretty tall, and he has a big brown beard.”
“I suppose that he is intellectual?”
“Not a bit! He’s very—very—Western. You think we are Western here, Bertha, but we’re not.”
“And is this gentleman stopping with you?” pursued Bertha.
“No, he left for New York to-day.”
“Then why can’t you join our party for the Lakes?”
“Because—” The fan dropped from Sarah’s fingers. “The truth is, Bertha, he asked me to marry him; that’s what he came for.”
“What!” cried Bertha.