"The idea!" laughed Ethel, gently sarcastic.
But Precious had fled to her father, and was hanging on his neck. As he clasped the lissome form to his heart he asked earnestly:
"Why not?"
"Yes, why not?" echoed his pretty pet.
"But, papa, she is too young," cried Ethel, almost angrily.
"Don't listen to her, papa. She doesn't want me to have one bit of fun. But I will go to the ball, for you will say yes, won't you, my darling old love?" and she stroked his rippling black whiskers with her dainty mite of a hand, and gazed into his eyes with innocent confidence.
He hugged the little pleader tight, and looked over the top of her golden head at his wife.
"What say you, Grace, my dear? Isn't she big enough to go to the ball?"
"I'm as tall as mamma. You needn't laugh, Ethel," cried Precious, and waited eagerly for her mother's reply.