.

Nattie acknowledged the "you."

"And you--you are alone?"

Nattie glanced around the room hoping the Duchess had strayed in, so she
might truthfully say no. But she was compelled to reply in the
affirmative.

"Glorious opportunity--I--it must not be wasted! I--I will explain, you
know!" he exclaimed, excitedly and incoherently. But to Nattie's
surprise, instead of entering, he darted away in such a tremendous hurry
that he stumbled and fell, and she distinctly heard his skull bang
against his own door.

But his last words were too ominous, and she was too well acquainted
with his peculiarities to flatter herself she was permanently relieved
of his company. He had perhaps gone to brush his hair, or take some
quieting drops, but she knew he had certainly not gone to stay, and not
being exactly in the humor for his company, Nattie resolved to fly
ignominiously. Afraid of returning to her own room, lest she might meet
him and be taken captive, she quietly retired into Cyn's bed-room. In a
few moments she heard him stumbling over a stool in the parlor, and was
just thinking that if he should take it into his head to remain any
length of time, she would be in rather a predicament, when to her
surprise she heard him say,

"I--I must speak! I--I hope this time I shall remember what I have so
often--so often said in the privacy of my own apartment, to--if I may
confess it--to a pillow--a pair of pants and a coat--placed in a chair
as a poor effigy of--of you, you know. Will you--will you--don't speak,
but let me alone, hear me and let the--the flow of language come!"

He paused, and in the greatest bewilderment, Nattie stared at the
opposite wall. Did he by some powerful intuition discern she was within
hearing distance, or was he in his disappointment rehearsing to her
empty chair? Before Nattie could decide between these two solutions of
his conduct, another voice, the voice of Celeste, said faintly and
affectedly,

"Oh, Quimby"

And then Nattie comprehended the situation. After her own retreat,
Celeste had entered and taken the just vacated chair. It was twilight.
Celeste wore a black dress like hers, her hair was dressed in the same
style, and was the same color, and Quimby had mistaken her for Nattie!
And in his excitement and struggle with that "flow of language," he did
not notice even that it was not Nattie's voice saying "Oh, Quimby!" for
he continued,

"I--I--you may reject me--I am afraid you will, bu