“Yes; and just look at Josephine!” sighed the Marberrys, simultaneously, for those little women were so overcharged with delight as scarce to be able either to speak or breathe in quite regular and commonplace fashion.
“Ah! she's the girl,” said Starlight, who, whether from honest admiration or a spirit of mischief, never lost an opportunity for extolling the virtues and attractions of Hazel's older sister.
“And she's drawn Harry Avery,” added Hazel, for once in her life adroit enough not to betray any annoyance; “I don't believe she minds, either.”
“Well, Harry doesn't mind, I know that much. Shouldn't wonder myself if he managed to have it come that way.” Starlight evidently spoke from knowledge of facts, for, like as not, Cousin Harry had foolishly taken that small boy somewhat into his confidence.
This “drawing” that Hazel spoke of was a queer custom of the olden days. Partners for the evening were chosen by lot; they danced, walked, and chatted with no one else, and when the dancing was over partook together of such modest refreshment as rusks and tea. This arrangement was most advantageous for the young ladies who were not specially attractive, for by means of it the fairest and the plainest were treated exactly alike. Now, for all this information, and much more beside, as I told you in the preface, we are indebted to that delightful first chapter of Mr. McMasters's History; but although you may not be old enough to care to read that chapter for yourself, nor half old enough to be allowed to attend a Dancing Assembly, nor fortunate enough to gain entrance to a little mid-air gallery, where you could watch all the fine goings on unobserved, yet I believe you are quite old enough to understand one thing—and that is that the pleasure of those old-time assemblies must have depended altogether upon the partner that fell to one's lot. A wretched sort of a time, or an indifferent sort of a time, or a very good time indeed—all lay within the possibilities of that one little chance. So do you wonder very much, or do you blame them very much, if those old-fashioned beaux, with their powdered hair, velvet knee breeches, and silver shoe-buckles, “sometimes managed things,” as Starlight said? At any rate, Harry Avery was supremely happy to have Josephine Boniface fall to his lot, and if he hadn't been guilty of “managing things” at all, why, all that remains to be said is that he was a very lucky fellow. Miss Pauline formed the only exception to this rigidly observed rule, as it was always an understood thing that her brother Hans should be her partner, but being, as Starlight said, “as graceful as a fairy,” and quite as light on her feet, it often happened that some friend of the Van Fleets would beg a dance of Pauline, and give the faithful brother a chance for “a turn” with his partner in exchange.
“Why, there's Aunt Frances,” exclaimed Starlight, suddenly spying her seated in a chair at the farther corner of the room. “Did she come in with the Van Vleets?”
“Yes, I think so; and doesn't she look a picture!” said Hazel, fairly feasting her eyes upon that much-loved lady. “And her dress, girls! isn't it lovely!” and Hazel, in her eagerness, gave Tilly Mar-berry, who sat next to her, a good hard hug. “When I am forty or fifty, or whatever age Aunt Frances is, I shall wear black velvet and soft old lace about my neck just like that. Now I shouldn't wonder”—Hazel spoke slowly, as if really giving the matter most thoughtful consideration—“I shouldn't wonder if Aunt Frances was as pretty as Josephine when she was a real young lady.”
“I half believe I think she's as pretty now,” answered Starlight, notwithstanding his constant championship of Josephine's superior charms.
“Who's she talking to, Starlight?”
“I'm sure I don't know,” said Starlight.