"I understand, dear. All girls get frightened and--"

"But it isn't that, mother. I don't love him. I can't go on. Won't
you, this minute, tell him--tell everybody--?"

"Darling, don't you realize I can't?" Missy had never before heard
old Mrs. Greenleaf's voice tremble.

"The invitation, and the trousseau, and the presents, and
everything. Think of the scandal, dear. We couldn't. Don't you see,
dear, we can't back out, now?"

"O-o-oh."

"I almost wish--but don't you see--?"

"Oh, I can't stand it another hour!"

"You're excited, dear," soothingly. "You'd better go rest a while.
I'll have a good talk with Porter. And you go upstairs and lie down.
The Carrolls' dinner--"

"Oh, dinners, luncheons, clothes. I--"

The despairing sound of Miss Princess's cry, and the throbbing
realization that these were calamities she must not overhear, stung
Missy to renewed reconnoitering. Tiptoeing over to the window, she
fumbled at the fastening of the screen, swung it outward, and,
contemplating a jump to the sward below, thrust one foot over the
sill.