She began at once to plan the household matters so that Rhoda would be free to devote the greater part of each day to the sick-room. She decided also that it was most necessary for the patient to be kept quiet, to be undisturbed by much going in and out of his room, and that therefore Charlotte, at least for several days, should not be admitted. Charlotte keenly resented this order. She felt it to be most unfair that she, who would undoubtedly be to any young man the most entertaining member of the family, should be barred from a room so full of romantic interest as this, in which lay a good-looking young gentleman, who had barely been rescued from a tragic death but who doubtless would still be capable of good judgment in the matter of feminine attractions. When Rhoda found her at the piano practising “The Last Rose of Summer” in the late afternoon of that first day she was looking very glum. “What’s the matter, sister?” Rhoda queried. “Nothing,” Charlotte answered shortly. “Really? I’d never think it!” Rhoda smiled at her, sitting down with a lapful of stockings to be sorted into goats-to-be-mended and sheep-not-to-be-mended. “If I were going to guess, I’d say you were sleepy and needed to go to bed early. I heard you come in last night, and it was pretty late. You haven’t told me a word yet about the party. Did you have a good time?” Charlotte laughed and tinkled some notes upon the piano keys. “Yes, indeed! I haven’t had such a perfectly lovely time in I don’t know when!” “That’s good!” Rhoda smiled discreetly, her eyes upon her work. “And Billy--did he have a good time too?” “Oh, Billy! Rhoda, you ought to have seen him! He was just furious! He looked as if he wouldn’t want to speak to me for a month. But he will!” “You haven’t said anything about Horace. Did he enjoy the evening?” Charlotte, with her eyes on Rhoda’s face, opened her lips to make a merry answer, hesitated, then darted at her sister a searching glance. “Rhoda,” she exclaimed, “Horace has been telling you about it!” “About what?” Rhoda looked up, the suspicion of a smile at the corners of her mouth. “O, la! About _it_, I said, didn’t I? Oh, Rhoda, it was such fun!” Charlotte’s voice was suffused with laughter. “But it’s nothing to make Horace propose. Why, Rhoda, you could do it!” Rhoda laid her stockinged hand, in whose covering she was searching for possible holes, in her lap and turned serious eyes upon Charlotte’s face, alight with merriment. “Do you really think so, sister? But, then, I don’t think I should want him to.” Charlotte looked at her in surprise. “You wouldn’t, Rhoda? That’s queer! But you are queer, anyway! The first thing we know you’ll be wearing short hair and bloomers and going to woman’s rights conventions! But please don’t, until after I’m married, anyway, so I won’t belong to the family any more!” “If you’re going to marry Horace right away I shan’t have to wait very long, shall I?” “Who said I was going to marry Horace? Did he?”