It will be seen whether Stephen was right or wrong.
He took a walk that afternoon, as far out as a place called Lindell's Grove, which afterward became historic. And when he returned to the house, his mother handed him a little white envelope.
“It came while you were out,” she said.
He turned it over, and stared at his name written across the front in a feminine hand In those days young ladies did not write in the bold and masculine manner now deemed proper. Stephen stared at the note, manlike, and pondered.
“Who brought it, mother?”
“Why don't you open it, and see?” asked his mother with a smile.
He took the suggestion. What a funny formal little note we should think it now! It was not funny to Stephen—then. He read it, and he read it again, and finally he walked over to the window, still holding it in his hand.
Some mothers would have shown their curiosity. Mrs. Brice did not, wherein she proved herself their superiors in the knowledge of mankind.
Stephen stood for a long while looking out into the gathering dusk. Then he went over to the fireplace and began tearing the note into little bits. Only once did he pause, to look again at his name on the envelope.
“It is an invitation to Miss Carvel's party,” he said.