"What young man?" gasped Nancy, turning scarlet.
"That young man," repeated Uncle Thomas, pettishly. "Elizabeth's boy—Arnold—that author-person."
"Author?"
"Yes. Bless me, didn't he tell you how famous he is? Do you like him, I say?" Uncle Thomas was quite fierce.
"Why, yes. I think he's awfully nice. I—I don't know him very well," said Nancy, in astonishment.
"Hum. Well, he's a nice fellow. Clever chap. Elizabeth dotes on him, but he doesn't let her think for him. But he's not good enough for you. You go along to college. If you won't get any silly notions about marrying and all that nonsense, I—I'll—well, maybe I'll give you a lift here and there, though it's strictly against my principles." After which involved and very cryptic remark Uncle Thomas stiffly offered her his cheek to kiss, and sent her to bed.
CHAPTER XI
ALMA MAKES COMPLICATIONS
Charlotte was sitting in the easy chair which she had imported to her new lodging with the rest of her belongings, munching peanuts. Her bushy brown hair was pinned up into a droll little "nubbin" on top of her head, her goggles had slipped down almost to the tip of her nose, and altogether her attitude, when Nancy burst in upon her late on Sunday afternoon, gave evidence that she was in a thoughtful mood. She had often said that peanuts always disposed her to meditation. With her feet on the window-seat she gazed out upon a rather dreary scene of fog and rain, hardly blinking her big, heavy-lidded eyes, and devouring peanuts like an automaton. But the unchanging gravity of her face, as she turned around to greet her prodigal roommate, told Nancy that there was really some serious matter on her friend's mind.