in that respect" (I giggle inwardly at the notion of his going about the house kissing us promiscuously), "it is my sister; she is engaged, you know."
"To Lovelace? So I have heard."
"I am gooseberry, you see," I continue, "and I do get so tired of it all. Do you think our fathers and mothers ever required gooseberries?"
"I don't know," he says, laughing, "but I suppose they did pretty much the same as their children do?"
The polka is over, and very hard work the dancers have apparently found it, for they are all, boys and girls alike, crimson.
By-and-by we dance a quadrille, young Mr. Tempest and I, and he guides me through the mazes of that mysterious dance with much discretion. I wonder why the sight of two people chasséing to each other always reminds me of two amiable ponies, who curvet about face to face with each other, preparatory to turning round and letting out their heels in good honest kicks? We do not kick up our heels though; and when the dance is over go to supper, where we eat chicken and tipsy cake with the hearty and unjaded appetite of youth, and then, for it is past ten o'clock, we all say, "Good-night, and thank you,” and go away to put on our cloaks and hats.
Balaam's Ass is waiting for Dolly and me, and George Tempest takes my little red cloak from her hands, and ties the ribbons under my chin.
"Good-bye, little Red Riding Hood," he says, "and shall I ever see you again?"
"I shall be sure to run up against you sooner or latter," I say, nodding; "St. Swithins is so very little: besides, do you not live at Silverbridge, and are you not going back to live there some day?"
