It was on one of the occasions above alluded to that the Don mentioned where his room was (hence Mrs. Carter’s knowledge of its location), managing to throw out, in a vague way, that as a wanderer about the earth he had chanced to find himself in Richmond, something in his manner rendering it impossible that any one should ask whence he came or whither he was going. “Now, doctor,” Mrs. Carter had added on this occasion, “I am sure that you will say that it would be very unwise in Mr. Smith to forsake his nurse and his present quarters just at present. True, Mr. Whacker takes Mr. Frobisher off to-night down to his rooms, but I am left. Besides, down there on Main Street, weak as you are, and all alone as you would be, there is no telling what might happen.” And she looked to the doctor for support. “Of course,” said he, with a shake of his head that brought the waving hair down over his forehead,—“of course Mr. Smith will remain here for the present.” “Well, that is settled?” asked Mrs. Carter. “One must obey orders, especially when they are agreeable.” CHAPTER XIV. This decree of the doctor’s threw the household into a great bustle. I was requested to call on the Don’s landlord, explain his long absence, and have his trunk sent up to Leigh Street. The girls were in a great flutter at the prospect of breakfasting with the mysterious stranger next morning; which announcement they had no sooner heard than they flew across the street to give Mary the news; and the air grew misty with interjections. “We have arranged it all, Mary. Mr. Whacker and Mr. Frobisher, who, as you know, are to leave our house this evening, will come up to breakfast with the Don, of course, and you will just make the party complete. _Proper?_ Of course, Mary. Why, there will be just one apiece,—_so_ nice! You and Mr. Frobisher, Lucy and—ahem!—Mr. Whacker, and the Don and myself. _No!_ that’s the way it shall be. Of course I’ll let you girls look at him,—even exchange a few words with him,—but I!—” And dropping into a chair by a table, she made as though mincing at an imaginary breakfast, whilst ogling, most killingly, an invisible gallant by her side. That day, the girls thought, would never end. They could neither talk nor think of anything save the coming breakfast, wandering aimlessly from room to room, and from story to story, romping, yawning, giggling, and were so exhausted by nightfall that they all went to bed at an early hour, just as children do on Christmas Eve, to make the morning come sooner. You must remember that they were hardly eighteen years of age. The morning came. Charley and I met Mary at the front door and we entered together. “I am so excited,” said she. “It is all so like a real adventure.”