"It sounds like wedding bells to me!" she cried, gayly. "You and I don't hear alike, Ju. It sounds like wedding bells, and commencement essays, and checks for stories, and—and—and——",
"And condemn the poor girl to eternal misery," said Etwald. "Well, I do not agree with you. But, at least, keep silent until after our interview to-morrow.",
"'Dear Elinor'—begins well, doesn't it, Judy? I couldn't have done much better myself—'Tom Hughes and I are coming to town next Saturday, and we are going to blow ourselves, for his birthday.' Not very enlightening as to Tom Hughes—never heard of him before; but that's neither here nor there, of course.".
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