She was supporting Dan, and his hand was round her neck; a nervous twitching of his fingers told her that her question was a momentous one.
"Dear Ellen," he answered in an agitated voice, "I do not think I would--at least just yet--because--because"--
"Because what, dear?"
"Because I am not sure, Ellen," he said, with a sob which he strove in vain to suppress. "Do not say any thing more, dear. My heart is very sad."
She obeyed him, and kissed him, and then, with a lingering look at the wondrous white outlines of eaves and roofs and at the wondrous white carpet with which the earth was clad, they closed the street-door and re-entered the kitchen. There they were greeted with the news that Basil Kindred was going to describe and read a play to them. The play which Basil had selected was Shakspeare's "Tempest," with which none of them was acquainted but Minnie and Dan. Minnie clapped her hands in delight.
"We will all have characters," she said. "You," to her father, "shall be Prospero. You," to the Old Sailor, "shall be Stephano. You," to Ellen, "shall be Miranda; and I will be Ariel. What a pity it is that Mr. Fewster is not here!--he should be Caliban. If Joshua were here, he should be Ferdinand."
"Who is Ferdinand?" asked Ellen.
"Ferdinand is a prince, and is in love with Miran--no!" Minnie exclaimed suddenly and impetuously, the blood rising into her face, "he should not play Ferdinand; he should not play at all. Look at me. I am Ariel."
With a swift motion, she unloosed her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. Bewitchingly graceful and bewitchingly beautiful, she bent in obeisance to Prospero and said with a happy inspiration,--
"Do you love me, master?"