Had Durward understood Mrs. Livingstone a little better, he might have believed him; but now it was but natural for him to suppose that Nero had accidentally dropped it. So he wrote another, taking it himself, and asking for “Miss Rivers.” Carrie, who was in the parlor and saw him coming up to the house, instantly flew to the glass, smoothing her collar, puffing out her hair a little more, pinching her cheek, which was not quite so red as usual, and wishing that she was alone. But unfortunately, both Anna and ’Lena were present, and as there was no means of being rid of them, she retained her seat at the piano, carelessly turning over the leaves of her music book, when the door opened and Corinda, not Durward, appeared. “If you please, Miss ’Lena,” said the girl, “Marster Bellmont want to speak with you in the hall.” “With ’Lena! How funny!” exclaimed Carrie. “Are you sure it was ’Lena?” “Yes, sure—he done ask for Miss Rivers.” “Ask him in, why don’t you?” said Carrie, suspecting his errand, and thinking to keep herself from all suspicion by appearing “wonderfully pleased” that ’Lena was not intentionally neglected. Before Corinda could reply, ’Lena had stepped into the hall, and was standing face to face with Durward, who retained her hand, while he asked if “she really believed they, intended to slight her,” at the same time explaining how it came to his knowledge, and saying “he hoped she would not fail to attend.” ’Lena hesitated, but he pressed her so hard, saying he should surely think she distrusted them if she refused, that she finally consented, and he took his leave, playfully threatening to come for her himself if she were not there with the rest. “You feel better, now, don’t you ?” said Carrie with a sneer, as ’Lena re-entered the parlor. “Yes, a great deal,” was ’Lena’s truthful answer. “Oh, I’m real glad!” exclaimed Anna. “I most knew ’twas a mistake all the time, and I did so want you to go. What will you wear? Let me see. Why, you haven’t got anything suitable, have you?” This was true, for ’Lena had nothing fit for the occasion, and she was beginning to wish she had not been invited, when her uncle came in, and to him Anna forthwith stated the case, saying ’Lena must have a new dress, and suggesting embroidered muslin. “How ridiculous!” muttered Carrie, thrumming away at the piano. “There’s no time to make dresses now. They should have invited her earlier.” “Isn’t Miss Simpson still here?” asked her father. Anna replied that she was, and then turning to ’Lena, Mr. Livingstone asked if “she wanted to go very much.” The tears which shone in her eyes were a sufficient answer, and when at supper that night, inquiry was made for Mr. Livingstone, it was said that he had gone to Frankfort. “To Frankfort!” repeated his wife. “What has he gone there for?”