“You may take my word for it, Rosalie, that the Colonel has received some excellent news by this morning’s mail! And now just observe the power of the soul over the body! Joyful news will so rejuvenate infirm old age, that it will skip about, elastic as youth. Witness Colonel Ashley, who stepped up those stairs more lightly than I ever saw him move in my life; while disappointment and sorrow will so enfeeble youth that it will move about drooping like paralytic age. Witness me ready to drop from my saddle with exhaustion—from your unkindness, Rosalie!”
“I am not unkind, nor do you look very much prostrated, let me say, Robert! But will you not come in?”
“No,” mournfully replied the young man, assisting her to alight.
“You had better—we have strawberries for the first time this spring.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Robert, with an offended air.
“Strawberries from uncle’s premium conservatory, and cream from my own premium dairy; you had better think it over!”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Robert, contemptuously.
“Oh, then, there’s no more to be said, of course!”
“Good morning, Rosalie!”
“Good morning, Robert; but won’t you shake hands with me?” she asked, offering her hand. He seized that little hand, and squeezed it and pressed it to his lips, and with an expression of curiously-blended deprecation and reproach, dropped it, mounted his horse, and galloped away.