“Sure,” said Peter.  And after a moment, thoughtfully staring down at the desk, he added again rather heavily, “Sure.”

“I told my aunt—­I had to,” said Susan then.

“Well, that’s all right,” Peter responded, after a perceptible pause.  “Nobody else knows?”

“Oh, nobody!” Susan answered, her heart fluttering nervously at his tone, and her courage suddenly failing.

“And Auntie will keep mum, of course,” he said thoughtfully.  “It would be so deuced awkward, Susan,” he began.

“Oh, I know it!” she said eagerly.  It seemed so much, after the unhappy apprehensions of the few days past, to have him acknowledge the engagement, to have him only concerned that it should not be prematurely made known!

“Can’t we have dinner together this evening, Sue?  And go see that man at the Orpheum,—­they say he’s a wonder!”

“Why, yes, we could.  Peter,—–­” Susan made a brave resolution.  “Peter, couldn’t you dine with us, at Auntie’s, I mean?”

“Why, yes, I could,” he said hesitatingly.  But the moment had given Susan time to reconsider the impulsively given invitation.  For a dozen reasons she did not want to take Peter home with her to-night.  The single one that the girls and Auntie would be quite unable to conceal the fact that they knew of her engagement was enough.  So when Peter said regretfully, “But I thought we’d have more fun alone!  Telephone your aunt and ask her if we can’t have a pious little dinner at the Palace, or at the Occidental—­we’ll not see anybody there!” Susan was only too glad to agree.

Auntie of course consented, a little lenience was permissible now.

“...  But not supper afterwards, dear,” said Auntie.  “If Peter teases, tell him that he will have you to himself soon enough!  And Sue,” she added, with a hint of reproach in her voice, “remember that we expect to see Peter out here very soon.  Of course it’s not as if your mother was alive, dear, I know that!  Still, even an old auntie has some claim!”

“Well, Auntie, darling,” said Susan, very low, “I asked him to dinner to-night.  And then it occurred to me, don’t you know?—–­that it might be better—–­”

“Gracious me, don’t think of bringing him out here that way!” ejaculated Mrs. Lancaster.  “No, indeed.  You’re quite right.  But arrange it for very soon, Sue.”

“Oh, surely I will!” Susan said, relievedly.

After an afternoon of happy anticipation it was a little disappointing to find that she and Peter were not to be alone, a gentle, pretty Miss Hall and her very charming brother were added to the party when Peter met Susan at six o’clock.

“Friends of Aunt Clara’s,” Peter explained to Susan.  “I had to!”

Susan, liking the Halls, sensibly made the best of them.  She let Miss Katharine monopolize Peter, and did her best to amuse Sam.  She was in high spirits at dinner, laughed, and kept the others laughing, during the play,—­for the plan had been changed for these guests, and afterwards was so amusing and gay at the little supper party that Peter was his most admiring self all the way home.  But Susan went to bed with a baffled aching in her heart.  This was not being engaged,—­something was wrong.