"I infer from what you say that I shall not be likely to meet the portrait painter at your house, Miss Framley."
"Decidedly not!" said the young lady, tossing her head. "I hope I choose my company better. I am sure I don't know what ma would say if I should introduce such a person into the house—ma is very particular."
"And very properly, I am sure."
Major Ashton politely refrained from laughing, though he happened to know that Mrs. Framley, who was now so very particular, had been a very respectable saleswoman in a small dry-goods store up to the time of her marriage with Jeremiah Framley, who was at that time a drummer in the employ of a second-class house in the city.
"Miss Framley is very amusing," thought the major, "though I fancy she would be a great bore to a matrimonial partner. I hope it may never be my sad destiny to marry her; though, as her father is rich, I may some day sacrifice myself to her."
How we deceive ourselves! Miss Framley was under the impression that the stylish major, of whose attentions she was proud, was struck with her, and she was already speculating as to the prominent place she might take in society as Mrs. Major Ashton, when a waltz struck up.
"Shall we dance, or are you too fatigued?" asked the major.
"Oh, not at all! It has quite passed off, I assure you," said the delighted young lady, and they moved off to the inspiring strains of one of Strauss' waltzes.
Miss Framley didn't appear to advantage as a dancer. Her figure was dumpy, and she had no ear for music, so that her pace was somewhat heavy and elephantine. The major was a graceful dancer, but it was all he could do to make up for his partner's deficiencies. He soon tired of the attempt, and handed his unwilling partner to a seat.
"I was not at all tired, major," she said, insinuatingly.