“Yes.”
“Well, what do you think?”
“Why, of course, that if he is not engaged to her he ought to be. He has taken her out in his wagon three times, he has sent her four bouquets, he waltzes with her every night, he bowls with her party every morning, and if that does not mean that he wants to marry her, I should like to know what it does mean,” replied Caroline, tossing her head.
Norman de Famille smiled, and Caroline continued with rather a flushed face, because Norman had been doing very much the same thing with her:
“What is a girl to understand by such attentions?”
“Why, that the gentleman finds it an amusing game, and hopes she is equally pleased,” returned De Famille.
“Merci, M. de Famille,” said Caroline, with an energy I never suspected in her, “and at the end of the game she may go break her heart, I suppose.”
“Hearts are not so brittle, Miss Pettitoes,” replied Norman. “Besides, why should you girls always play for such high stakes?”
They were just about beginning the waltz again, when the music stopped, and they walked away. But I saw the tears in Caroline’s eyes. I don’t know whether they were tears of vexation, or of disappointment. The men have the advantage of us because they can control their emotions so much better. I suppose Caroline blushed and cried, because she found herself blushing and crying, quite as much as because she fancied her partner didn’t care for her.
I turned to Kurz Pacha, who stood by my side, smiling, and rubbing his hands.