arrangements;
which reminded me, in its turn, of other sarcasms which had followed it.
My "charming and cultivated society" was not necessary to her happiness
. . . When she thought of how she had lowered herself . . . Other people
did not necessarily regard me as seriously as I did myself . . . And so
on . . . until Dorinda called me in to sit at the table, and pretend
to eat while she and Lute commented on my lack of appetite and my
absent-mindedness.

It was eight o'clock, and I had gone up to my room to escape from their
solicitude and pointed questioning, when I happened to think of Nellie's
note. I had not been curious concerning its contents, for, as I had
agreed to act as best man at the wedding, I assumed, as Dorinda had
done, that she had written on that, to her, all-important topic. I took
the note from my pocket and tore open the envelope.

Nellie had not written about the wedding. Her letter was a long
one, evidently written in great agitation and with words blotted and
underscored. Its subject was the man she loved, George Taylor. She was
so anxious about him. Did I remember, that night when my mother was ill,
how she had spoken of him to me and asked if I had noticed how troubled
and worried he seemed of late?

"And, Roscoe," she wrote, "I have noticed it more and more since then.
He IS in trouble. There is something on his mind, something that he will
not tell me and that I can see is worrying him dreadfully. He is not
like himself at all. I KNOW something is wrong, and I cannot find out
what it is. I want to help him SO much. Oh, please, Roscoe, don't
think this is just a foolish girl's imagination, and does not amount to
anything. It does. I know it does. You are his best friend. Can't YOU
find out what is troubling him and help him, for my sake? I have meant
to speak to you about this ever so many times, but I seldom see you
alone and I could not speak while he was with me. So I decided to write
this letter. If you will try, just TRY to find out what ails him and
help him I shall never, NEVER forget your kindness. Perhaps he does not
want to marry me. Perhaps he does not care for me as much as he thought
he did and will not tell me because he does not want me to feel bad.
If that is it tell him not to mind my feelings at all. I want him to be
happy. If it would make him happier to have me give him up I will do it,
even though I shall pray to die right away. Oh can't you help him and
me, Roscoe? Ple