And she throws down her work and takes his arm.
"They are going to dance down in the village to-day," says she.
"I suppose that's where you would like to go too, you puss?"
She wrings her hands and groans, so as to give the most drastic expression to her longing.
"But I cannot have my way; For at home I've got to stay," he hums.
"It's a regular shame," she grumbles, "that I have never yet in my life danced with you.--And I should like to immensely, for you dance well--very well!"
"How do you know that?"
"What a question!" she says with feigned indignation. "Think of that rifle fête three years ago. All the girls told wonders of how well you held them during the dance--not too loose and not too tight;--and that you were tall and good-looking I could see for myself--but what good was all that to me? You overlooked me as utterly as if I were nothing but empty air."
"How old were you at that time?"
She hesitates a little, then says dejectedly: "Fourteen and a half."