"If you are looking for Miss Orr," she said distinctly, "I think she
has gone out in the kitchen. I saw Mrs. Solomon Black beckon to her."
The minister glanced down at her; his rash impulse of an hour back
was already forgotten.
"Don't you think it's awfully warm in here?" continued Fanny.
A sudden desperate desire had assailed her; she must--she would
compel him to some sort of an explanation.
"It's a warm evening," commented the minister. "But why not eat your
cream? You'll find it will cool you off."
"I--I don't care much for ice cream," said Fanny, in a low tremulous
voice.
She gazed at him, her dark eyes brimming with eager questions.
"I was wondering if we couldn't--it's pleasant out in the yard--"
"If you'll excuse me for just a moment, Miss Dodge," Wesley Elliot's
tone was blandly courteous--"I'll try and find you a chair. They
appear to be scarce articles; I believe the ladies removed most of
them to the rear of the house. Pardon me--"
He set down his plate of ice cream on the top shelf of Mrs. Solomon
Black's what-not, thereby deranging a careful group of sea-shells and
daguerreotypes, and walked quickly away.
Fanny's face flushed to a painful crimson; then as suddenly paled.
She was a proud girl, accustomed to love and admiration since early
childhood, when she had queened it over her playmates because her
yellow curls were longer than theirs, her cheeks pinker, her eyes
brighter and her slim, strong body taller.
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