“No?” I inquired blandly. “Well, some people are prejudiced against dancing. But I see no wrong in it myself. Do you regard dancing as frivolous?”
She had to make the humiliating confession.
“I don’t know anything about it,” replied Nellie, turning half away. “I am not allowed to go to dances.”
“Dear me!” I said; “motives of health, doubtless?”
“No, I’m not considered old enough.”
“Oh!” I said, in the tone of one who feels he has pushed his inquiries too far. “That is a pity. There is such fun at dances—sitting out, you know, and such things. You can’t have such fun anywhere else.”
Nellie looked a defiant “Couldn’t she, though,” and I considered my young friend Ted’s affair as good as arranged. I heard her whisper to Bassishaw later that Mr. Butterfield was a beast.
Carrie came bustling up to ask me to help in the preparations for the magic-lantern; and shortly afterwards the light was down, and the great white circle shifting and quivering on the sheet, to the whispering anticipation of eager children. When, a few minutes later, I had taken Chris Carmichael on my knee, and the pictures had begun, certain quiet indications from the back told me that Master Ted was having a good time. I couldn’t see the young monkeys at it, but I divined from the brooding peace in that direction that they were hand in hand. Hand in hand at least.
An hour later the place was quiet once more, and only Carrie, Bassishaw, and myself were left, gathered round the cold magic-lantern. I looked at it and shook my head. I had to do it three times before they noticed me.
“What is it now, Rol?” said Carrie.