Eva. To be sure I do. He’s the best waltzer in the city. Graceful, agreeable, and decidedly good-looking.
Ida. And you would marry him?
Eva. Not unless he asked me, and then—
Ida. And then—
Eva. I should remember that he is considered a fortune-hunter, that he is too fond of horses, that possibly he might have an eye on father’s bank-book, that I don’t want such a husband, and should very sweetly, calmly, but decidedly say, No, thank you, Mr. Dasher.
Ida. Exactly what I should say to Mr. Kids, without the sweetness and calmness.
Eva. I hope we shall not have the chance, for then, of course, we should lose their society—and they are such superb waltzers.
Ida. But what in the world could have possessed mother to have us come so early. Hurry, girls, hurry! And here we are before the hall is lighted.
Eva. I’m sure I don’t know. It’s one of her whims. One would hardly think that, at her age, she would care for dancing.
Ida. But she does. I caught her to-day attempting a waltz before the glass in her room; and such work as she did make of it!