Stay, stay, my sweet young lady; do not let the fervor of your feelings run away with you! I do not pretend to say, indeed, that one or more of these pretty subjects might not have been introduced; but the most important and leading topic of the conference was—Lieutenant Seaforth's breeches.
“Caroline,” said Charles, “I have had some very odd dreams since I have been at Tappington.”
“Dreams, have you?” smiled the young lady, arching her taper neck like a swan in pluming. “Dreams, have you?”
“Ah, dreams—or dream, perhaps, I should say; for, though repeated, it was still the same. And what do you imagine was its subject?”
“It is impossible for me to divine,” said the tongue; “I have not the least difficulty in guessing,” said the eye, as plainly as ever eye spoke.
“I dreamt—of your great-grandfather!”
There was a change in the glance—“My great-grandfather?”
“Yes, the old Sir Giles, or Sir John, you told me about the other day: he walked into my bedroom in his short cloak of murrey-colored velvet, his long rapier, and his Raleigh-looking hat and feather, just as the picture represents him; but with one exception.”
“And what was that?”
“Why, his lower extremities, which were visible, were those of a skeleton.”