“He is a very good fellow—I don't say he isn't. No one could say he wasn't nice-looking, but somehow he doesn't make you feel—you know, right down, you know, through and through.”
“Electricity,” said Maggie, with a low, subtle laugh, and her thread cracked through the straw of the hat.
“Yes,” cried Sally boisterously. “Electricity, I never heard it called that before; but it isn't a bad name for it; it is like electricity. When a man looks at you—you know, in a peculiar way, it goes right down your back from the very crown of your head.”
“No, not down my back; I feel it down my chest, just like forked lightning. Isn't it horrid? You know that it is coming and you can't help it. Some men fix their eyes on you.”
“It is just when you meet a man's eyes—a man you like, but haven't seen much of.”
“I don't think liking has anything to do with it. I hate it; don't you?”
“No, I don't know that I do. I can't see anything so disagreeable as that in it. 'Tis rather a shock, a sort of pang.”
Mrs. Wood raised her mild face and looked surprised through her thick spectacles; the merry niece bit her lips, and strove to stay her laughter. Then Maggie said: “Sue, have you ever felt electricity?”
“Oh, miss! I don't think I understand,” and she glanced at her aunt over the hem she was running.
“Now, come, tell the truth. You mean to say you never felt electricity?”