"Let me venture to suggest," replied Clair, as he took the book and turned over the leaves thoughtfully, "that leaving such a house as this, it would scarcely be right for you, to appear at a fancy ball at all."
"Oh, you methodist! give me the book."
"You will not then be persuaded," he said, laying his hand gently on the sketches of the frail beauties she had asked him to choose among. "Think, that for the sake of a few hours of doubtful enjoyment you lay yourself open to severe self-reproach, and may wound the feelings of your friends here. It may sound odd that I should venture to speak so seriously, but—"
"Yes, it does seem very odd, certainly, and I thought I had given you a surfeit of preaching just now."
"Yet before you decide, I would ask you to consider whether you are not wronging yourself, by acting so thoughtlessly."
"Now let me ask you in return," she replied, pettishly, "if I am at Bath what harm my going would do or what good I could get by staying away?"
"Very little, perhaps, actually, but no one could think any unkindness intended by your remaining at home. I can hardly expect you, however, to listen to me, but, should your own better judgment lead you to come to the same determination I shall be rejoiced."
Lucy sat down, half sullenly turning over the book of beauties, and seeming to be examining their dresses with the greatest attention, as if she were trying to discover how they might be imitated by tinsel and gauze.
The Captain stood looking at her earnestly. Mr. Ware's advice recurred to his mind, and, though he had found it difficult to follow it, he had tried his best.
Lucy, with her face glowing with excitement, her eyes moist with recent tears, looked exceedingly pretty, and he could not help longing for the power to plant a different spirit within her, at length he exclaimed, with sudden energy—