“Dear me! How very strange! Oh, yes, I forgot. She has gone to the conservatory.” Then she muttered in low tones:
“Now I have said it, and she told me not to tell.”
“Well, I’m off to the conservatory, too—eh, Auntie! Don’t follow me,” and he strode toward the piazza.
“Sam! Sam! Remain here. I have something to say to you.”
“Well, be quick, Auntie. You know I am crazy to see her. Eh! I guess so.”
“‘Crazy!’ Well, remember the least display of rudeness or unseemly eagerness will be promptly met with a frown of displeasure.”
“Auntie, she’s finer than the petals of a rose.”
“But, like a rose, too, she is just as sensitive,” cautioned Mrs. Harris, as she majestically moved over to the mantel—and then she abruptly turned, at a fresh thought. “Sam, for the sake of our social prestige—for my own hope that your affection shall be reciprocated”—
“Love, Auntie!” interrupted Sam. “That’s the word. It’s short and to the point. Eh?”
Quite undisturbed by the interruption, she continued: “And for the supreme pleasure it would afford me to see the house of Harris united to the house of Thorpe, I desire that you give me an example of the manner you intend to approach Virginia.”