"I want neither the back nor the front, my dear," he answers placidly. "I'd rather not be brought into close contact with the mysteries of your dress. I'm going to enjoy my cigar on the box-seat."
"Are you? I dare say you'll like it better than being squashed between us," assents Pauline lightly.
"You are going to do nothing of the kind," interposes Addie, with flaming face. "I will not allow it. Going to sit outside for a seven miles' drive on a snowy night in January, just to save a few wretched flowers from being crushed! Pauline, I'm ashamed of you!"
"My dear Addie, don't get so hot about it, it was my own suggestion, not your sister's. I do not mind the weather in the least. It's not a bad kind of night for the season of the year, and I have a famous overcoat lined with fur, and my cigar."
They are all three standing in the porch. Addie suddenly walks back into the hall, and begins undoing her wraps; they follow her in quickly.
"What are you doing? What is the matter?"
"I am not going to the ball, Pauline; I should not like to crush your flounces, dear," she answers, with sparkling eyes.
Pauline crimsons.
"Addie, how—how spiteful you are!" she cries, angrily. "You know I did not want your husband to sit on the box-seat; he suggested it himself. There is plenty of room for us all inside. Oh, come along, Addie; don't be so nasty and spiteful!"
But she is not to be propitiated; she shakes off her sister's protesting hands, and moves away upstairs.