"Impossible, my dear Bishop," interrupted the Dowager. "She
can't be permitted to go back on the train alone."

"Why, Miss--Miss Murieson, I'll see you back all the way to the
college door. Not at all, not at all. Charmed. First, we'll have
dinner--or, first I'll telephone out there and tell 'em you're
with us, so that if there's any rule or anything of that sort--"

The telephone! This wretched Edward with half his wits gave me
more trouble than the Bishop and the Dowager put together. She
jumped at the idea, and left the room, only to come back again to
whisper to me:

"What name, my dear?"

"What name? what name?" I repeated blankly. What name, indeed.
I wonder how "Nance Olden" would have done.

"Don't hurry, dear, don't perplex yourself," she whispered
anxiously, noting my bewilderment. "There's plenty of time, and
it makes no difference--not a particle, really."

I put my hand to my head.

"I can't think--I can't think. There's one girl has nervous
prostration, and her name's got mixed with mine, and I can't--"

"Hush, hush! Never mind. You shall come and lie down in my
room. You'll stay with us to-night, anyway, and we'll have a
doctor in, Bishop."