“Let’s go to bed in real earnest,” said Clara. “I’m sure I will, if you’ll agree.”
“For shame!” I exclaimed. “What would they say?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Clara; “they’ve disappointed us before now.”
“But then they could not help it,” I replied.
“No, nor I can’t help it now,” said Clara; “for I’m so sleepy.”
“But it would look so,” I said, repressing another yawn; for I, too, was dreadfully tired.
“I don’t care,” said Clara. “I don’t want to hear about the revolution to-night, and what Garibaldi once did. I don’t care. Red shirts are becoming, but one gets tired of hearing about them. It is such dull work, all four of us being together, and watching every movement. It isn’t as if we were alone.”
“I do declare I’m quite ashamed of you,” I said. “Why, it would not be prudent for us to go alone.”
“Oh, no, of course not,” said Clara, mockingly. “Nobody you know ever went down to the elms all alone by herself.”
“But you knew of it,” I said.