"Isn't she rude?" says Clarissa. "One would think I was an old fogy of ninety-five. Spectacles, indeed!"
"I must run," says Miss Cissy. "I entirely forgot all about the dinner, and mamma left it to me, as she had to go and see old Mrs. Martin. Good-bye, dear, dearest Clarissa. How I wish I could go with you to this lovely ball!"
"Never mind; people always meet," says Clarissa, consolingly.
"Yes,—at Philippi," returns the irrepressible, and, with a faint grimace, she vanishes.
Georgie walks as far as the entrance-gate with Clarissa. When there, she looks at the iron bars wistfully, and then says, in her pretty childish way, "Let me go a little way with you, Clarissa, will you?"
Miss Peyton, who is walking, is delighted.
"As far as ever you will. Indeed, I want to speak to you. What—what is your dress like, Georgie?"
Georgie hesitates. Clarissa, misunderstanding her silence, says, gently, "Let me give you one, dearest?"
"Oh, no, no," says Miss Broughton, quickly. "I have one,—I have, indeed; and it is rather pretty."
"But you told me you had never been at a ball."