"
"Yes, of course," said Lucy. "But what are we to do? the invitations are
all out. Oh dear, dear, was there ever such a wretched piece of business!
Phil, it's real good in you not to reproach me."
"'Twould be useless now," he sighed, "and I think the reproaches of your
own conscience must be sufficient. Not that I would put all the blame on
you, though. A full share of it belongs to me."
By morning both ladies had recovered some degree of calmness, but Gertrude
obstinately refused to leave her room, or to see any one who might call,
even her most intimate friend.
"Tell them I'm sick," she said, "it'll be true enough, for I have an awful
headache."
It was to her mother who had been urging her to come down to breakfast,
that she was speaking.
"Well, I shall send up a cup of tea," said Mrs. Ross. "But, what is this?"
as the maid entered with a note. "It's directed to you, Gertrude."
"From him, I presume," Gertrude said, as the girl went out and closed the
door. "Throw it into the fire, mother, or no; I'll send it back unopened."
"It is not his hand," said Mrs. Ross, closely scrutinizing the address.
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