“At least,” said Meta, laughing; “she is a living instance that every one is not eaten up, and we shall see if she fulfils Tom’s prediction of being tattooed, or of having a slice out of the fattest part of her cheek.”
“I know very well,” said Ethel, “the worst she said it would be, the more you would go.”
“Not quite that,” said Meta, blushing, and looking down.
“Come, don’t be deceitful!” said Ethel. “You know very well that you are still more bent on it than you were last year.”
“To be sure I am!” said Meta, looking up with a sudden beamy flash of her dark eyes. “Norman and I know each other so much better now,” she added, rather falteringly.
“Ay! I know you are ready to go through thick and thin, and that is why I give my consent and approbation. You are not to be stopped for nonsense.”
“Not for nonsense, certainly,” said Meta, “but”—and her voice became tremulous—“if Dr. May deliberately said it would be wrong, and that I should be an encumbrance and perplexity, I am making up my mind to the chance.”
“But what would you do?” asked Ethel.
“I don’t know. You should not ask such questions, Ethel.”
“Well! it won’t happen, so it is no use to talk about it,” said Ethel. “Fancy my having made you cry.”