"I don't wish too many guests," she soliloquized as she sealed the
last invitation. "Now, I must write to Linda."
"My dear Linda,
"I have a great surprise for you. You must forgive me for keeping a
secret. I do it so seldom, I wished the experience. I am like the
penniless suitor who proposed to an heiress, who, he knew, would
reject him, just to see how it would make him feel to lose a fortune.
I think I saw that in Punch, but it fits my case exactly. They will
be here, _sure_, day after to-morrow. I mean Quincy and Alice, and, I
hope, Maude. Come and bring all the children. I suppose Algernon is
in London helping to make laws for unruly Britishers, but we will
make merry and defy the constables. Despite my marital patronymic,
and my armorial bearings, I am still, your loving aunt
Ella."
Alice was not to tell the sad news to Lady Fernborough. The telegraph
outstrips the ocean liner, and a newspaper, with tidings of the great
calamity, was in Aunt Ella's hands long before the arrival of the
broken-hearted wife and disconsolate sister. The invitations were
countermanded, and days of sorrow followed instead of the anticipated
time of joyfulness.
Alice and Florence told the story of the tragedy over and over again
to sympathizing listeners.
"That was just like Quincy to give his place to that poor woman and
her child," said Aunt Ella.
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