"And, Mary," Belle continued, "are you engaged to Mr. Axworthy?"
"No!" sullenly.
"Then if I were you I wouldn't let him kiss me when he says 'Good-night' at the door after bringing you home from a party."
"You're old-fashioned. All the girls do it!"
"No lady would permit a man to take such a liberty. You're spoiling your chances with Mr. Axworthy, I can tell you. I never knew a man yet that would bind himself to a girl when he could have all the privileges of an engaged man, and none of the responsibilities."
"I don't care anything at all about him. I don't want to marry him. He's just giving me a good time."
A good time he undoubtedly did give her throughout the winter. To the smartest balls and parties he was her escort, and she always wore the roses he never neglected to send. Every Sunday about dusk he would come round to our house, and, martyrs to a good cause, Isabel, mother, and I vacated the cozy parlor with its easy chairs and blazing fire for the nursery—always uproarious with children on that day.
"I wonder what those two find to talk about," speculated Belle. "Mary has no conversation at all, and Axworthy hasn't much more."
"Perhaps he takes it out in looking at her. By the way, Belle, when are you going to appear in the new dress I gave you that fifty dollars to buy? I am quite tired of the mauve tea gown."
My wife glanced over her shoulder to make sure that Grandma was out of hearing.