"We were working hard at a dress—a dress for a fancy-ball!"
"A fancy-ball, Letty? What do you mean? You going to a fancy-ball!"
"Me!" cried Letty, with merry laugh; "no, not quite me. Who do you think it was for?"
"How should I know?" said Tom again, but not quite so indifferently; he was prepared to be annoyed.
"For Mrs. Redmain!" said Letty, triumphantly, clapping her hands with delight at what she thought the fun of the thing, for was not Mrs. Redmain Tom's friend?—then stooping a little—it was an unconscious, pretty trick she had—and holding them out, palm pressed to palm, with the fingers toward his face.
"Letty," said Tom, frowning—and the frown deepened and deepened; for had he not from the first, if in nothing else, taken trouble to instruct her in what became the wife of Thomas Helmer, Esq.?—"Letty, this won't do!"
Letty was frightened, but tried to think he was only pretending to be displeased.
"Ah! don't frighten me, Tom," she said, with her merry hands now changed to pleading ones, though their position and attitude remained the same.
But he caught them by the wrists in both of his, and held them tight.
"Letty," he said once more, and with increased severity, "this won't do. I tell you, it won't do."