"Full thirty times hath Phœbus' cart gone round
Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground,
And thirty dozen moons, with borrow'd sheen,
About the world have times twelve thirties been,
Since Love our hearts and Hymen did our hands
Unite commutual in most sacred bands."
My neighbour and I looked up and exchanged glances as they went by. We both laughed.
"At least you will allow," said she, "that this is one of the cases in which a married lady may indulge her passion for the dance without danger of consequences?"
"I am not quite sure of that," replied I. "If she be not found guilty of sin, she will scarcely obtain a verdict that shall acquit her of folly. But what can induce that magnificent personage, who looks down upon her as if engaged in measuring the distance between them—what could induce him to request the honour of enclosing her venerable waist in his arm?"
"Nothing more easily explained. That little fair girl sitting in yonder corner, with her hair so tightly drawn off her forehead, is her daughter—her only daughter, and will have a noble dot. Now you understand it?... And tell me, in case his speculation should not succeed, is it not better that this excellent lady, who waltzes so very like a duck, should receive all the eloquence with which he will seek to render himself amiable, upon her time-steeled heart, than that the delicate little girl herself should have to listen to it?"