A decorous maid conducted the long-belated applicant to her where
she sat upon a sofa beside a nursery governess. The decorous maid
announced him composedly as he made his entrance.
"Mr. Penrod Schofield!"
Miss Rennsdale suddenly burst into loud sobs.
"Oh!" she wailed. "I just knew it would be him!"
The decorous maid's composure vanished at once--likewise her
decorum. She clapped her hand over her mouth and fled, uttering
sounds. The governess, however, set herself to comfort her
heartbroken charge, and presently succeeded in restoring Miss
Rennsdale to a semblance of that poise with which a lady receives
callers and accepts invitations to dance cotillons. But she
continued to sob at intervals.
Feeling himself at perhaps a disadvantage, Penrod made offer of his
hand for the morrow with a little embarrassment. Following the form
prescribed by Professor Bartet, he advanced several paces toward
the stricken lady and bowed formally.
"I hope," he said by rote, "you're well, and your parents also in
good health. May I have the pleasure of dancing the cotillon as
your partner t'-morrow afternoon?"
The wet eyes of Miss Rennsdale searched his countenance without
pleasure, and a shudder wrung her small shoulders; but the
governess whispered to her instructively, and she made a great
effort.
"I thu-thank you fu-for your polite invu-invu-invutation; and I
ac----" Thus far she progressed when emotion overcame her again.
She beat frantically upon the sofa with fists and heels. "Oh, I did
want it to be Georgie Bassett!"
"No, no, no!" said the governess, and whispered urgently, whereupon
Miss Rennsdale was able to complete her acceptance.
"And I ac-accept wu-with pu-pleasure!" she moaned, and immediately,
uttering a loud yell, flung herself face downward upon the sofa,
clutching her governess convulsively.
Somewhat disconcerted, Penrod bowed again.
"I thank you for your polite acceptance," he murmured hurriedly;
"and I trust--I trust--I forget. Oh, yes--I trust we shall have a
most enjoyable occasion. Pray present my compliments to your
parents; and I must now wish you a very good afternoon."
Concluding these courtly demonstrations with another bow he
withdrew in fair order, though thrown into partial confusion in the
hall by a final wail from his crushed hostess:
"Oh! Why couldn't it be anybody but him!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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