“And welcome, too!” said Cyn, laughing; “come, sit here by me. Are you and Mr. Stanwood acquainted?”
“Oh, yes!” replied Jo, perching himself on the arm of a rocking-chair close to Cyn, and appropriating a wooden cover for a plate as he spoke. “He and Quimby did me the honor to call on me today, but left for metal more attractive—whether the dinner or you ladies, I will not pretend to say!”
“It was we ladies, you dreadful matter-of-fact creature!” said Nattie. “Their presence at the dinner was quite accidental; Cyn and I started out for a little quiet feast, and behold the result! Bohemian enough for even you, isn’t it, Jo?”
“Exactly what I like!” replied Jo—and very close indeed to Cyn had Jo managed to get, but then the table was very small—“But the idea of you two girls proposing to selfishly enjoy such a feast all alone!”
“I begin to think we did make a mistake, in not making preparations for, and inviting a larger party,” acquiesced Cyn.
“I wonder if Miss Rogers has overcome her anger towards offending me?” questioned Mr. Stanwood, looking at her roguishly, as she helped him to a second piece of pie.
“My anger towards you?” repeated Nattie, coloring.
“Yes; you did not want me to accept Miss Archer’s most kind invitation, and remain; now confess, did you?” he asked, laughing.
Nattie was rather embarrassed at this instance of the young gentleman’s perceptive faculties, and not exactly able to refute the charge, was somewhat at loss how to reply.
“I—I do not get acquainted quite so easily as Cyn,” she stammered.
“Except on the wire!” Cyn added.
“Except on the wire,” repeated Nattie, with a smile; then meeting the curious glance of Mr. Stanwood, it suddenly flashed upon her that he was the same young gentleman who had called at the office, and inquired about the tariff to Washington, for the sole object of talking, as she then supposed.
“I have seen you before!” she exclaimed, on the impulse of the moment.
“That sounds like a novel! what is coming now?” ejaculated Jo, with his mouth full of pie.
Mr. Stanwood laughed very heartily at Nattie’s exclamation, and asked in reply,
“Have you just discovered it? I recognized you the moment I entered the room today. That is one reason I was so anxious to remain. She snubbed me most outrageously,” he added to Cyn, in explanation, “and simply because I tried to be agreeable to her one day at the office.”
“But you had no business to be agreeable!” said Nattie, also laughing, and not at all displeased.
“Of course you had not,” interrupted Jo.
“I never talk to strangers,” concluded Nattie.
“Except, perhaps, on the wire, as you said just now!” he suggested.
“You have caught her now!” said Cyn gayly, as she peeled an orange. “But you will never do even that again, will you, Nat?”
“One such experience is quite enough for me,” Nattie replied.
“Still, the next one might not have red hair, or smell of musk!” Jo remarked.
“He might be even worse, though!” interposed the penitent on the stool.
With a strangely puzzled look, Mr. Stanwood glanced from one to the other, observing which, Cyn said,
“You don’t understand, of course. May I tell him, Nat?”
“Ah! well—yes!” Nattie replied with an air of vexed resignation. “I suppose I may as well make up my mind to be laughed at on account of that story forever and a day.”
“I am as much of a victim as you, for I was intensely interested in the unknown,” laughed Cyn; then turning to Mr. Stanwood, she went on. “It appears telegraph operators have a way of talking together over the wire, knowing little about each other, and nothing at all of their mutual personal appearance. In this manner, Nat became acquainted with a young man whom she knew as C, and grew, to speak mildly, interested in him—Now, Nat, you know you did—and so, as I remarked previously, did I—we were introduced over the wire. In fact, he seemed everything that was nice and agreeable, and if we did not actually fall in love with him—you see, I am sharing your glory all I can, Nat—it is a wonder.”
“If this C knew the impression he made on two young ladies, he would certainly feel complimented,” Mr. Stanwood, who was playing with his knife and fork, here interrupted.
“Fortunately, he never really knew,” replied Cyn, while Nattie looked somewhat gloomily at her goblet of coffee, in memory of the romance that collapsed. “To continue this ower true tale!—Thus far all was mysterious, enchanting, romantic. But now comes the dark sequel. One day C called—bodily.”
Mr. Stanwood started and looked quickly up at Nattie, who, without observing his glance, murmured contemptuously,
“Odious creature!”
At this he turned with a perplexed look again to Cyn, who proceeded.
“Yes, an odious creature he proved to be. Only think, he had red hair, and dreadful teeth, smelt of musk, wore cheap jewelry, and, in short, was decidedly vulgar!”
“What!” exclaimed Mr. Stanwood, staring at her as if he thought she was bereft of her senses. “What!” and he dropped his knife and fork, and pushed his chair back violently, to the alarm of the Duchess, who was immediately behind.
Cyn appeared astonished at his vehemence; but Nattie, too occupied with thoughts of this newly-revived grievance to observe it, repeated,
“Red hair, all bear’s grease, and everything to match!”
“Do you mean to tell me,” Mr. Stanwood asked, looking at her earnestly, and speaking with great energy, “that a person, such as you describe, called on you and represented himself to be C?”
“Exactly,” Nattie replied; “first telling me he was going away to substitute for a day, and then coming upon me in all his odiousness.”
“The story seems to interest you,” added Cyn, glancing at him scrutinizingly.
Mr. Stanwood looked at her, at Nattie, mused a moment, and then burst into a laugh, equal even to the one Quimby had caused.
“It does interest me,” he said, as soon as he could speak; “very much, indeed. It is really the best joke—considered from one point—I ever heard. And, of course, after that day, C was cut?”
“Indeed he was,” Nattie replied, scornfully.
“The circuit
