"Oh."
Nor does Nancy notice how hurriedly her mother's next question comes.
"Did you see Mrs. Winters, darling?"
"Oh yes--I saw her."
"And you're going on to New York?"
"Yes--next week, I think."
"With her. And going to stay with her?"
"I suppose so."
Mrs. Ellicott sighs relievedly.
"That's so nice."
Nancy will be safe now--as safe as if she were under an anesthetic. Mrs.
Winters will take care of that. She must have a little talk with dear
Isabella Winters. But that night Nancy is alone in her room--doing up her
engagement ring and Oliver's letters in a wobbly package. She is not quite
just, though, she keeps one letter--the first.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Margaret Crowe, who, having just come to her seventeenth birthday in this
present day and generation, felt it her official family duty to season the
general conversation with an appropriate pepper of heartlessness, had
really put it very well. She had said that while she didn't suppose one
house party over Labor Day would more than partially rivet a broken heart,
it honestly was a relief for everybody else to get Oliver out of the house
for a while, and mother needn't look at her that way because she was as
sorry as any of the rest of them for poor old Oliver but when people went
about like walking cadavers and nearly bit you any time you mentioned
anything that had to do with marriage, it was time they went somewhere
else for a while and stayed there till they got over it.
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