Grandmamma behaved with the stiffest decorum. She suggested that we—the young girls—should walk in the garden, while she had some conversation with Mrs. Gurrage and Augustus.
Miss Hoad and I left the room. Her name is Amelia. She looked like a turkey's egg, just that yellowish white with freckles.
"I hope you will be good to Gussie," she said, as we walked demurely along the path. "He is a dear fellow when you know him, though a bit masterful."
I bowed.
"Gussie's awfully spoony on you," she went on. "I said to aunt weeks ago I knew what was up," she giggled.
I bowed again.
"I say, he'll give you a bouquet for the ball to-night; we are going into Tilchester now to fetch it."
I could not bow a third time, so I said:
"Is not a bouquet rather in the way of dancing? I have never been to a ball yet."
"Never been to a ball? My! Well I've never had a bouquet, so I can't say. If you have any one sweet on you I suppose they send them, but I have always been too busy with aunt to think about that."