“But I never could be reconciled to the piano standing in the corner in that way,” says the lady. “I insist upon it, it ought to stand in the bow-window: it’s the way mamma’s stands, and Aunt Jane’s, and Mrs. Wilcox’s; everybody has their piano so.”
“If it comes to insisting,” says the gentleman, “it strikes me that is a game two can play at.”
“Why, my dear, you know a lady’s parlor is her own ground.”
“Not a married lady’s parlor, I imagine. I believe it is at least equally her husband’s, as he expects to pass a good portion of his time there.”
“But I don’t think you ought to insist on an arrangement that really is disagreeable to me,” says the lady.
“And I don’t think you ought to insist on an arrangement that is really disagreeable to me,” says the gentleman.
And now Hero’s cheeks flush, and the spirit burns within, as she says,—
“Well, if you insist upon it I suppose it must be as you say; but I shall never take any pleasure in playing on it”; and Hero sweeps from the apartment, leaving the victor very unhappy in his conquest.
He rushes after her, and finds her up-stairs sitting disconsolate and weeping on a packing-box.
“Now, Hero, how silly! Do have it your own way. I’ll give it up.”