At this Quimby recovered his voice.
"No!" he cried, in stentorian tones, "it was not—I cannot have made a mistake this time, you know! Cyn"—looking at her reproachfully—"you knew about it! I met you a short time ago, and asked you—and you said we might come, you know!"
Half amazed and half amused, Cyn shook her head in denial, at which action Quimby started and turned pale.
"Why I—I beg pardon—but in the hall! you said, 'certainly,' you know!"
"Oh!" said Cyn, a light breaking in upon her, "I see, but I did not then understand you, I suppose;" rallying from her embarrassment, "my mind was so occupied with our feast, I was incapable of thinking of anything else; so please consider this an apology for the condition in which you find us, to yourself and your friend, whom, you will pardon me for reminding you, you have not introduced," and Cyn looking laughingly at the stranger, who also laughed.
"Oh! I—I beg pardon, I am sure, for—for all my stupidities. I—I am always doing something wrong, but I—I am used to it, you know," said the disconcerted Quimby; then wiping the perspiration from his forehead, he added clumsily, "my friend, Mr. Stanwood—Cyn—and Miss—Miss Rogers."
Mr. Stanwood gayly shook hands with Cyn,
