“Of course you do, don’t you, father?” Charlotte promptly interrupted, with a coquettish look at Dr. Ware, to which he responded with a fond smile. “Isn’t Horace Hardaker a good enough chaperon for anybody?” she went on.
“Horace Hardaker!” her father exclaimed in surprise. “What’s become of Billy Saunders? Have you quarreled?”
“No—he hasn’t. He was impertinent this afternoon—wanted to kiss me, and I told him he shouldn’t speak to me for a month. So I asked Rhoda if I couldn’t go with her and Horace.”
Dr. Ware laughed indulgently. “Horace will take good care of her, Rhoda. It’s all right for her to go with him. But I’m surprised, Charlotte,” he went on, frowning at her with mock seriousness, “that a young lady of your convictions should be willing to go to a party with a Black Abolitionist!”
“Aren’t you afraid to let him go with me, father?” she mocked in reply, her eyes dancing. “Suppose I should convert him to slavery before we get back, and make him promise to vote for Buchanan!”
“You minx!” he said fondly, as he stopped to give her hair a rumpling caress. Then with altered manner he turned to Rhoda with some directions for her mother’s comfort and messages for certain patients if they should call during the evening.
The making of Charlotte’s toilette, at which Rhoda assisted, was enlivened by much gaiety of spirit on the part of the younger sister. Charlotte had put aside the teasing humor in which she so often indulged and was more affectionate than usual. Rhoda warmed to her in response and was delightedly absorbed in helping to deck her for the evening’s merrymaking. They laughed softly together at her little flashes of fun, which were so frequent that finally Rhoda exclaimed, smiling down upon her fondly: “You’re hatching up some mischief, sister, aren’t you?”
Charlotte giggled. “Oh, I’m just thinking how I’ll punish Billy Saunders!”
“And make him want to kiss you more than ever!” warned Rhoda gaily.
“He shan’t, all the same!” Charlotte laughed over her shoulder as she tilted out of the room.