Arbell has been, and gone. She came in rather before eleven, carrying her little white lap-dog, who had a new scarlet ribbon round his neck. I saw directly that the cloud was gone,—she looked as fresh as a rose, and as cheerful as a lark.
“Good girl, for being so punctual,” said I.
“Punctual!” said she. “Why, I hope I’m more than that, or Shock and I have raced in vain! I would not let old John come with me more than half way, and then we took to our heels and ran—didn’t we, Shock?”
“I feel the compliment,” said I, very sincerely. “Perhaps, though, you would as soon have run in any other direction.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” said she, with a bright look, as she untied the blue strings of her large straw hat, and threw it on the ground. The next minute she picked it up, and put it, with her gloves and visite, on a side-table.
“Why did you do that?” said I, curiously.
“Because you are not Mademoiselle. She says I never can be tidy, but you see I can.”
“What people can be, they ought to be,” said I.