“No; I will not,” replied Tessa, gathering her work and rising. “Sue, you will find me up-stairs.”
“Then I’m coming, too; I don’t want to stay and be sentimental. Gerald will talk—I know him—and I will cry, and how I would look to-morrow! I want you to do a little fixing for me and to try my hair low and then high.”
“I like it high,” said Dr. Lake.
“I don’t. I like it low. Tessa you shall try it low, like Nan Gerard’s. Say, Gerald, shall I put on my dress after she has fixed my hair and come down and let you see it.”
“I think I have seen it. Didn’t you try it on for me and tell me that that fellow liked it? I hate that dress; if you dress to please me, you will wear the one you have on now.”
“This old thing! I see myself. No, I shall wear my wedding dress. It fits to perfection. I want to look pretty once in my life.”
“You will never look prettier than you do this minute! Come here,” opening his arms towards her.
“No, I won’t. Let me alone, Dr. Lake.”
Tessa was already on the stairs; Sue ran towards her laughing and screaming, the parlor door was closed with a bang.
“Now he’s angry,” cried Sue, tripping on the stairs. “I don’t care; he wants me to stay and talk sentiment, and I hate being sentimental. And, Tessa, you sha’n’t talk to me, either.”