"It is a remarkable production, worthy of camp-meeting, I should say. But, Miss Flossy, allow me to congratulate you. It was sung with striking effect."
Flossy arose suddenly from the piano, and closed the book of hymns.
"Col. Baker," she said, "may I ask you to excuse me this evening? I find I am not in a mood to enjoy conversation; my brother will entertain you, I am sure."
And before Col. Baker could recover from his astonishment sufficiently to make any reply at all, she had given him a courteous bow for good-night, and escaped from the room.
The situation was discussed by the Shipley family at the next morning's breakfast table. Flossy had come down a trifle late, looking pale and somewhat sober, and was rallied by Kitty as to the cause.
"Her conscience is troubling her a little, I fancy," her father said, eyeing her closely from under heavy brows. "Weren't you just a little hard on the colonel, last night, daughter? He is willing to endure considerable from you, I guess; but I wouldn't try him too far."
"What was the trouble, father? What has Flossy done now? I thought she was going to be good at last?"
"Done! You may well ask what, Miss Kitty. Suppose the friend you had shut up in the library had been informed suddenly that you were not in a mood to talk with him, and then you had decamped and left him to the tender mercies of two men?"
"Why, Flossy Shipley! you didn't do that, did you? Really, if I were Col. Baker I would never call on you again."
"I don't see the harm," Flossy said, simply. "Father and Charlie were both there. Surely that was company enough for him. I hadn't invited him to call."