We are apt to forget that there are actually times of life when too much youth is a handicap. Miss Rennsdale was beautiful; she danced like a premiere; she had every charm but age. On that account alone had she been allowed so much time to prepare to receive callers that it was only by the most manful efforts she could keep her lip from trembling. 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!” CHAPTER XIII THE SMALLPOX MEDICINE