Mr. Dinsmore followed his wife from the room. "'Twill be an early return of Carrington's call," he said, "but I have a little business with him."
"Yes, I'm very glad: it is a good plan; but don't hurry Elsie away. She and Lucy will want a long talk."
"I promise to be careful to obey orders," he answered, sportively. "Is that all?"
"Yes; only see that you don't stay too long, and keep the dinner waiting at Roselands."
"Mamma," asked Elsie, bringing up the rear as they entered the sitting-room, "can't you go, too—you and Aunt Adelaide? Four make as nice a party as two, and the babies can be driven over quite safely, with their mammies, to take care of them."
"No," said Rose, "I never accept such late invitations; I shall——"
"My dear," said her husband, "we would be very glad."
"No, no; the first arrangement is decidedly the best;" putting on an air of pretended pique.
"Babies! do you call me a baby?" cried young Horace, who had sprung to his feet with a flash of indignation in his great black eyes, "I'm nine years old, Elsie. Rosie there's the only baby belonging to this house. Do you think papa would let a baby have a pony like Gip? and a pistol of his own, too?"
Elsie put her arms round his neck, and gave him a kiss, "I beg ten thousand pardons."