Then, too, he was evidently very angry with her
about the money. Only by meeting for a long, frank talk could she ever
hope to make things right again; but not to save her life could she
think of any form of letter which would bring such a meeting to pass.
Pondering the question, she fell asleep. All next day, whenever she had
a minute and sometimes when she did not, she pondered it, and the next,
and the next. Her heart smote her for the tardiness of her reparation;
but stronger than this was her fear of striking and missing fire. And at
last an idea came to her; an idea so big and beautiful that it first
startled and dazzled her, and then set her heart to singing; the perfect
idea which would blot away the whole miserable mess at one stroke. She
sat down and wrote Mr. Surface five lines, asking him to be kind enough
to call upon her in regard to the business matter about which he had
written her a few weeks before.
She wrote this note from her house, one night; she expected, of course,
that he would come there to see her; she had planned out exactly where
they were each to sit, and even large blocks of their conversation.
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