“Oh, dear! then I’ll have dinner sent up to my room, I think. I don’t feel a bit well, and it’s awful to think of sitting bolt upright in a tight dress for an hour or two.” And Lucia whirled from side to side on the piano-stool, and looked forlorn and cross.
“I suppose it would be impossible to dine in a dress that is not tight?” said the father.
“Papa, please don’t tease me: I don’t feel a bit well; really I don’t.”
“What is the matter, child?” asked the father, tenderly. “Too much candy?—too few parties?”
“Oh, nothing, that I know of,” said the girl, wearily. “I’ll feel better when real cold weather comes, I suppose.” She played with the piano-keys a moment or two, and continued,—
“So you have a new clerk? I hope he’s nice?—not a mere figuring-machine?”
“Quite a fine fellow,” said the merchant. “At least, he seems to be.”
“Is he—have you given him the place you intended to offer Philip Hayn?”
“Yes.”
“The iron business is real good for a young man to get into, isn’t it?”