for this time but has an uncomfortable knowledge that it may be any one of
a dozen.

"Now we old people are going to leave you, children alone for a little
while" she announces, fair to the last, her voice sweeter than ever.
"We know you have such a great many important _affairs_ to talk
over--particularly the _splendid_ offer that has just come to Nancy--my
little girl hasn't told you about it yet, has she, Oliver?'

"No, Mrs. Ellicott."

"Well, her father and myself consider it quite _remarkable_ and we have
been _urging_--very _strongly_--her acceptance, though of course" this with
a glace smile, "we realize that we are only her _parents_. And, as Nancy
knows, it has always been our dearest wish to have her decide matters
affecting her happiness entirely _herself_. But I feel sure that when both
of you have talked it _well_ over, we can trust you both to come to a
most _reasonable_ decision." She breathes heavily and moves with her
appurtenance to the door, secure as an ostrich in the belief that Oliver
thinks her impartial, even affectionate. Her conscientiousness gives her a
good deal of applause for leaving the two young people so soon when they
have all one evening and another morning to be together--but subconsciously
she knows that she has done her best by her recent little speech to make
this talking-it-over a walk through a field full of small pestilent
burrs, for both Oliver and Nancy. They say _au revoir_ very politely--all
four--the door shuts on Mr. Ellicott's meek back.

Mrs. Ellicott is not very happy, going downstairs. She knows what has
undoubtedly happened the moment the door was shut--and a little twinge of
something very like the taste of sour grapes goes through her as she thinks