d been sober, but there's no
telling, when you remember the reputation the Dowager had given him.
But he'd got no further than to put his arm around me when both the
Bishop and the Dowager flew to the rescue. My, but they were shocked!
I couldn't help wondering what they'd have done if Edward had happened
to see the Bishop in the same sort of tableau earlier in the afternoon.

But I got a lucid interval just then, and distracted their attention.
I stood for a moment, my head bent as though I was thinking deeply.

"I think I'll go now," I said at length. "I--I don't understand
exactly how I got here," I went on, looking from the Bishop to the
Dowager and back again, "or how I happened to miss my father. I'm
ever--so much obliged to you, and if you will give me my hat, I'll take
the next train back to college."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," said the Dowager, promptly. "My dear,
you're a sweet girl that's been studying too hard. You must go to my
room and rest--"

"And stay for dinner. Don't you care. Sometimes I don't know how I
get here myself." Edward winked jovially.

Well, I did. While the Dowager's back was turned, I gave him the
littlest one, in return for his. It made him drunker than ever.

"I think," said the Bishop, grimly, with a significant glance at the
Dowager, as he turned just then and saw the old cock ogling me, "the
young lady is wiser than we. I'll take her to the station--"

The station! Ugh! Not Nance Olden, with the red coat still on.

"Impossible, my dear Bishop," interrupted the Dowager. "She can't be
permitted to go back on the train alone."

"Why, Miss--Miss Murieson, I'll see you back all the way to the college
door. Not at all, not at all. Charmed. First, we'll have dinner--or,
first I'll telephone out there and tell 'em you're with us, so that if
there's any rule or anything of that sort--"

The telephone! This wretched Edward with half his wits gave me more
trouble than the Bishop and the Dowager put together. She jumped at
the idea, and left the room, only to come back again to whisper to me:

"What name, my dear?"

"What name? what name?" I repeated blankly. What name, indeed. I
wonder how "Nance Olden" would have done.

"Don't hurry, dear, don't perplex yourself," she whispered anxiously,
noting my bewilderment. "There's plenty of time, and it makes no
difference--not a particle, really."

I put my hand to my head.

"I can't think--I can't think.