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Cullum, Ridgwell, [pseud.], 1867-1943

"The Forfeit"

And after that the banquet,
which, since the inauguration of the Association, had always taken
place, here at Aston's Hotel.
There would be speeches. Jeff would speak, and her father--no, she
hoped he wouldn't speak. Her smile deepened. He had such a way of
saying just what came into his funny, simple old head, and such a
curious vocabulary. Then, after the banquet, the--Ball!
The girl emitted a deep ecstatic sigh. The ball! It was the crowning
glory, and--she had a beautiful new gown for each event. It was a
ravishing thought. Perhaps a mere man may be forgiven his lack of
imagination in his appreciation of such perfect, unutterable delight.
But Nan had no cloud to obscure her sun. The labor of dressing afresh,
three times in one evening without a maid, except the questionable
assistance of a hotel chambermaid, had no terrors for her--none
whatever.
Her day-dreaming was interrupted by an immoderate thump on the door.
She turned her head at once, her pretty dancing eyes alight with
expectancy.
"That you, Dad?" she called.


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