Collier Pratt made a round of the rose-shaded lamps in the room—there were three including a Japanese candle lamp,—and turned them all deliberately low. Then he held out his arms to Nancy.
“We’ll snatch at the few moments of joy the gods will vouchsafe us,” he said.
CHAPTER XVI
Christmas Shopping
Sheila and Nancy were doing their Christmas shopping. The weather, which had been like mid-May—even to betraying a bewildered Jersey apple tree into unseasonable bloom that gave it considerable newspaper notoriety,—had suddenly turned sharp and frosty. Sheila, all in gray fur to the beginning of her gray gaiters, and Nancy in blue, a smart blue tailor suit with black furs and a big black satin hat—she was dressing better than she had ever dressed in her life—were in that state of physical exhilaration that follows the spur of the frost.
“We mustn’t dance down the avenue, Sheila,” Nancy said, “it isn’t done, in the circles in which we move.”
“It is you who are almost very nearly dancing, Miss Dear,” Sheila said, “I was only walking on my toetips.”
“Oh! don’t you feel good, Sheila?” Nancy cried.