“Why, Rose, what is the matter?”
“I had such a sad dream last night. I cannot tell it; and I cannot forget it. I wish I could be good, and I cannot be good. We used to have such noble plans for our lives. We meant to be so useful and busy, and I have frittered this summer away in pure idleness. But after this ball is over, I am determined I will do 79 something better with my life than dress and dance, and eat and sleep, and listen to lovers.”
“I also have come far short of what I intended, Rose. The summer has gone like a dream, but I feel this morning as if I had awakened from it.”
“Well, I have made some good resolutions; and when the time comes, I intend to keep them. To-day, however, is predestined to folly, and I may as well have my share in it. When my conscience pricks me a little I always enjoy my pleasures the most. You know what is said about stolen fruit; it is that kind of a feeling. Why did Antony go to New York? Did he tell you that I had snubbed him the other day?”
“He never talks of you, Rose. Did you go to Mrs. Van Praagh’s tea?”
“Unfortunately, I did.”
“Was it not pleasant?”
“Do you know the kind of tea, where everybody calls every one else ‘dear’?”
Yanna laughed.
“That explains the function. We were all women, and we were all ‘dear.’ No men were present but Grandfather Praagh and the young Adolphus.”