“Jane, you’re going to be a horrible, horrible old woman. You’re going to be a matchmaker. You’re going to make all your friends hide in ambush when they see you coming, and you’ll probably be assassinated.”
“I don’t care. Come along, now—ni-ice little Paul, and teach Amelia how to do the pretty highland fling!” And actually, so irresistible was her determination, she coaxed the enraged Paul down the ladder, and standing disinterestedly at a certain distance away, heard him say meekly, according to her instructions,
“Miss Hartshorn, may I have the pleasure of this waltz?” his voice fading away to an anguished whisper. Mr. Sheridan, beaming with satisfaction, professed abysmal regrets at being forced to lose his charming partner; and then Paul, with the sweetly wan expression of an early martyr, placed one arm around Amelia’s waist, and began the peculiar, grave capering which in his dazed condition, he believed to be a waltz.
[CHAPTER IX—“THE BEST LAID PLANS—”]
Mr. Sheridan, turning about, suppressing a vast sigh, beheld Jane, standing and smiling at him with her most benevolent expression.
“Why—so there you are again! How glad I am to see you! Why haven’t you ever come to call on me? I’ve missed you,” he said, taking her hand. His pleasure was too sincere not to be extremely flattering.
“I would have come, only I’ve been pretty busy,” she explained; then her eyes twinkled. “That was Paul,” she said. “You remember I told you that he was coming. Isn’t he a nice boy?”
It was only the mischievous sparkle in her eyes that told Mr. Sheridan that she had a double meaning.
“A charming boy!” he declared with fervor; and then he laughed guiltily.
“That was mean of Dolly,” said Jane.