“Why,” said Nellie, with a sigh of fatigue and reproach, “certainly!” Then she added, “Well, good-by; hope you’ll have a delightful time, I’m sure,” and closed Miss Sara’s door, with a sense of relief that was like the lifting of some harassing weight. She came slowly downstairs, pulling on her soiled gloves, and walking with a mincing step. Escaped from Miss Wharton’s room, she felt as if all the luxury of this great house—the color, the lights, the soft carpet under her feet, the sparkle of the firelight in the hall below—was hers, and so she assumed the gait and the manner which she conceived to belong to an owner. The inside-man was just lighting a lamp under a big rose-colored shade, and Nellie threw up her head with a haughty look, and drew down the corners of her mouth, sweeping past him toward the door. James, however, smiled with great politeness.
“Oh, g’d evening, Miss Sherman,” he said. “My! it does seem to get dark early these days, doesn’t it?”
Nellie’s lofty coldness melted instantly. She simpered and said, “Is that so?”
“It’s quite late for a young lady to be out alone,” James remarked with grave solicitude.
“Oh, that’s a’ right,” Nellie protested.
She was smiling, and holding her head coquettishly, and looking up at him with great archness. She dropped her handkerchief as she reached the front door and James picked it up, and handed it to her with an elaborate bow. He caught her fingers in his own as he did so, and they both giggled, and Nellie said, “Now, you stop that!”
They lowered their voices with an apprehensive look towards the staircase; James opened the door and stepped out on the porch with her. “Well, you oughtn’t to be severe, Miss Sherman; it’s such a little hand, a gentleman can’t help it; Miss Sara’s is twice as big.”
“Is that so?” said Nellie; and then they both looked up at the sky, and James observed that the weather was threatening, and it certainly was too dark for a young lady, a beautiful young lady, to be out alone.
“Oh, that’s a’ right,” Nellie reassured him politely.