"I don't think it will hurt the neighborhood, and I hope you will succeed. I'm sure I should love to board with you."

"Would you really, Alex? Doesn't the house strike you as very forlorn?

I'll tell you what I am going to do," and Miss Sarah launched forth into an account of how she meant to cut the hall carpet in two and turn it around so the worn part would come under the stairs. "But dear me!" she interrupted herself to say, "how absurd to bother you with all this. It is your turn to say something."

"I like to hear it. I am interested, and my worries are the same old ones. I do want to learn how to do something to support myself, and stenography is so--abominably dull. I am angry with myself for finding it so." Alex rested her chin in her hand, and looked at Miss Sarah disconsolately across the table.

"I do not believe you were meant for that sort of thing," Miss Sarah said stoutly. "Of course I can't tell you what you _were_ made for; but I know what I'd like to do, and that is, keep a shop such as the one on the corner."

"What would Mrs. Millard say to that?" Alex asked, laughing.

"She can't say much since she was caught there herself. You needn't tell me curiosity had not something to do with it. But I am forgetting the other thing I had to tell you. I have made trouble in the Wilbur household."

"What do you mean? How?"

"I was never more provoked with myself. The other day I happened to be out on Dean Avenue, and whom should I see going into the Lyles' but Charlotte Creston. You know that big, showy house near the park. What possessed me to mention it, I don't know, but I did, one evening when Caroline and Virginia were here. I knew in a minute something was wrong. I have an idea Charlotte went without permission."

"Who are the Lyles?" asked Alex.

"Mrs. Lyle was at the glove counter at Mason's years ago; she was then Maggie McKay, and a vain, pretentious thing. She married a plumber with a romantic name, and her rise has been rapid. Now, if you and I could only be plumbers!"

"I remember Charlotte mentioned a Lucile Lyle, and seemed rather fascinated, but I did not think she would be so silly as to go there against her aunt's wishes. I am afraid she is headstrong."

"She is the sort of a child to be goaded to distraction by Caroline. I wish I had held my tongue. I can see Virginia is dreadfully upset about something."

"I think I'll go over and talk to Charlotte," Alex said, as Miss Sarah shut the oven door on the spice cake. Alexina had had dreams of influencing Charlotte, and she felt a little annoyed that what she had said on the subject of this foolish friendship had made such a slight impression.

"Now don't you go and make matters worse, Alex," cautioned Miss Sarah.

"I have no doubt Caroline has harped on the matter till the child is desperate. I feel terribly guilty."

"I am disappointed in her, and I mean to tell her so," Alex replied firmly.

CHAPTER ELEVENTH

THE LAST STRAW

Charlotte was closing the piano after an hour's practice when Alexina walked in. A week had pa.s.sed since the discovery of her disobedience,--a week of increasing unhappiness. The blow had fallen unexpectedly. One day at dinner she had been conscious of something amiss. A remark of her own met with no response; Aunt Caroline looked haughty, Aunt Virginia despondent. Charlotte had not, however, guessed the cause until she was summoned into the library and the question put to her by Mrs. Millard, "Did you go to the Lyles' in defiance of my express wishes, Charlotte?"

"I--"

"Yes or no, if you please."

"Yes," Charlotte answered, "but--"

"I want no explanations. There can be none."

"But, Aunt Caroline, you don't understand--"

"You are the one who seems not to understand," again Mrs. Millard interrupted. "You have deliberately disobeyed. I see you are not to be trusted. Hereafter, whenever you go out, you shall be provided with an attendant. The carriage will take you to and from school, your Aunt Virginia or I will accompany you to your music lesson when possible; at other times Martha will go."

"Aunt Caroline, you might let me speak. I tried to tell Aunt Virginia--I had promised Lucile--I had to go; but I am dreadfully sorry, and--"

"Charlotte, I will not have any words on the subject. You have deliberately disobeyed. Nothing you can say alters that." Mrs. Millard swept from the room, almost running down Miss Virginia, who hovered about the door.

"She did try to tell, Caroline," Charlotte heard her say.

"Nonsense, what difference can that make?" was the reply.

Not to be allowed one word in self-defence was hard. Charlotte locked herself in her room and shed bitter tears of anger and mortification.

That she was sorry and had tried to confess seemed to her to be very much to her credit, and Aunt Caroline was unreasonable as well as cruel. She refused to go down to supper, saying her head ached; and it would have been in harmony with her state of mind if she had been compelled to go without any, but it was sent up to her without comment.

The worst was to come, however. To a high-spirited girl, used to the greatest freedom, the constant surveillance was unbearable. She was not locked up, but in all other respects she felt herself a captive.

She was certain Aunt Virginia was sorry for her,--in an aloof and timid fashion she showed her friendliness; but Charlotte longed for some one to whom she could pour out all her unhappiness; and for this Aunt Virginia allowed her no opportunity.

How long was it to last? Aunt Caroline gave no word. As the days pa.s.sed, Charlotte began to wear a sullen, dogged look. The sight of Alexina brought a thrill of hope. Surely, Miss Alex would listen to her, and be sorry.

"Charlotte, what is this I hear about you?" Alexina demanded, seating herself on the piano-stool.

"Oh, Miss Alex, I am so unhappy." Charlotte, who was kneeling to put away some music in the cabinet, sank in a forlorn little heap at her feet. "She won't let me go anywhere by myself,--not even to school; and she wouldn't listen when I said I was sorry." Charlotte's tone was guarded, but none the less appealing.

But Alex hardened her heart. "I suppose it is because you were disobedient. I must say I am disappointed in you, for it seems to me you were deceitful as well as disobedient."

Charlotte sat up. Her last hope of a confidante was gone. "You have no right to say that. I had to go: I had promised. I was willing to be punished, but she has no right to treat me like a baby. I wish I had never come."

"Probably your aunts wish so too," Alex observed coolly. "You are not reasonable, Charlotte. You have acted like a silly child and made yourself talked about, and you are just worrying Miss Virginia to death. But don't look at me in that way. I am sorry for you, and if you will be patient and accept your punishment, it will come out all right." Alex laid her hand on Charlotte's shoulder, but the girl twitched it away. Rising, she stood stony and silent. Alex's condemnation was the last straw.

As she went drearily up the stairway, Charlotte's thoughts turned with a great longing to her guardian and the quiet house in Philadelphia.

He did perhaps care a little for her. He had sent her here because he thought it best, but it had turned out a terrible mistake. She would write to-night and tell him so. Tell him how impossible it was to endure it any longer, and implore him to send her to boarding-school.

But would he understand? It was so difficult to write things. If only she could be with him and Cousin Francis for half an hour and tell them her story, she was sure she could make them see the matter as she did. And now a daring thought entered her mind. Why not go to them?

Naturally self-reliant, the thought of the long journey by herself did not terrify her. In the little silver purse (Aunt Cora's parting gift) were two gold pieces,--more than enough to buy a ticket to Philadelphia.

Charlotte's misery grew less at the picture her imagination drew of her aunts' consternation when her flight should be discovered.

Probably there would be more talk; but little would she care, safe with Uncle Landor.

Carried away by the excitement of the idea, she found a daily paper and sat down in the dainty room prepared for her with so much loving care by Aunt Virginia not three months ago, to study the time-table and lay her plans.

There was a through train at half-past eight at night which would exactly suit. She could steal away after supper. It was the evening for Aunt Caroline's Antiquarian Society, and Aunt Virginia could be easily eluded.

In stories people who ran away usually left notes. Charlotte considered this, and decided she would write one to Aunt Virginia. It took a long while and a great deal of note-paper was wasted before it was done, and her enthusiasm had cooled a little as she folded it.

She carried a flushed face and an abstracted manner to the supper table, but her aunts were evidently too much interested in some matter they were discussing to notice her. If she had been less absorbed, her curiosity would have been aroused by the guarded manner in which they talked.

"It is a case where duty seems to call one in opposite directions,"