I had to. But, as it
happens, I've got to go out West on business,--I'll tell you about
it,--and I'll take Irene along."

"Good!" said his wife. "That's about the best thing I've heard yet.
Where you going?"

"Out Dubuque way."

"Anything the matter with Bill's folks?"

"No. It's business."

"How's Pen?"

"I guess she ain't much better than Irene."

"He been about any?"

"Yes. But I can't see as it helps matters much."

"Tchk!" Mrs. Lapham fell back against the carriage cushions. "I
declare, to see her willing to take the man that we all thought wanted
her sister! I can't make it seem right."

"It's right," said Lapham stoutly; "but I guess she ain't willing; I
wish she was. But there don't seem to be any way out of the thing,
anywhere. It's a perfect snarl. But I don't want you should be
anyways ha'sh with Pen."

Mrs. Lapham answered nothing; but when she met Penelope she gave the
girl's wan face a sharp look, and began to whimper on her neck.

Penelope's tears were all spent. "Well, mother," she said, "you come
back almost as cheerful as you went away. I needn't ask if 'Rene's in
good spirits. We all seem to be overflowing with them. I suppose this
is one way of congratulating me. Mrs. Corey hasn't been round to do it
yet."

"Are you--are you engaged to him, Pen?" gasped her mother.

"Judging by my feelings, I should say not. I feel as if it was a last
will and testament. But you'd better ask him when he comes."

"I can't bear to look at him."

"I guess he's used to that. He don't seem to expect to be looked at.
Well! we're all just where we started. I wonder how long it will keep
up."

Mrs. Lapham reported to her husband when he came home at night--he had
left his business to go and meet her, and then, after a desolate dinner
at the house, had returned to the office again--that Penelope was fully
as bad as Irene. "And she don't know how to work it off. Irene keeps
doing; but Pen just sits in her room and mopes. She don't even read.
I went up this afternoon to scold her about the state the house was
in--you can see that Irene's away by the perfect mess; but when I saw
her through the crack of the door I hadn't the heart. She sat there
with her hands in her lap, just staring. And, my goodness! she JUMPED
so when she saw me; and then she fell back, and began to laugh, and
said she, 'I thought it was my ghost, mother!' I felt as if I should
give way."

Lapham listened jadedly