"My dearest Trix," said Edith, struggling with a laugh, "gentlemen don't call upon young ladies in their chambers at break of day, even though they have a sprained ankle. It isn't de rigeur."
"De rigger be blowed! It isn't my chamber; it's my private parlor; and aristocratic as we have got lately, I don't think half-past twelve is the break of day. Edith, upon your word, did he say anything about—about—you know what?"
"Marrying you? No, Trixy, not a word."
She put her arms closer around poor Trixy's neck, and hid her face in
Trixy's chestnut hair.
"Trix, pet, don't you think there may have been a little—just a little, misunderstanding that night at Killarney?"
"Misunderstanding! I don't understand you, Edith," Miss Stuart exclaimed, in increasing alarm. "For goodness' sake come round where I can see you, and don't stand there like a sort of 'Get thee behind me, Satan.' I like to look people in the face when I talk to them."
"In one moment, dear; please don't be cross. I have something that is not pleasant to say that you won't like. I am afraid to tell you. Trix, there was a misunderstanding that night."
"I don't see how; I don't believe there was. Edith Darrell, what do you mean? He asked me to marry him—at least he told me he was in love with me in a stupid, round-about way, and asked me if he might hope, and if there was any danger of a refusal, or a rival, when he spoke out, and that balderdash. He said he meant to speak to pa and ma, as plain as print. Now how could there be a misunderstanding in all that?"
"It was, as you say, awfully stupid of him, but these Englishmen have such different ways from what we are accustomed to. There was a misunderstanding, I repeat. He means to speak to your father and mother to-day, but—not about you."
"Edith!" Trix half sprung up, pale as death and with flashing eyes.
"What do you mean? Speak out, I tell you!"