"Did Mr. St. Leger dance with you last night?"
"Why, no, child, he never dances; I didn't see him dance, all the time we were in Boston."
"I thought you liked him," said Jane, with innocent surprise.
"I like him well enough, after a fashion; as well as one can like a man who never dances, and don't talk much. He is very stupid, sometimes, and dresses very badly too."
"Is he handsome?" asked Jane.
"No, he is as ugly as he can be; I really think he looks just a little like that old Mr. Hopkins, his uncle."
"What in the world makes you like him then?"
"I am sure I don't know. But don't fancy I really care about the man. He is going back to Boston next week, and I don't suppose I shall ever see him again; but I thought I would take his bouquet, to-night, because he was so polite to me; and he will be there. Oh, my dear Jane, talking of Boston, I have hit upon an idea!"
"Well, what is it?"
"I saw a girl at a party there—by-the-bye, it was Theodore St. Leger's sister—who had her dress trimmed with natural flowers; that's just the thing for me!" cried Adeline, clapping her hands. The difficulty thus happily removed, the young ladies ran up stairs, to determine more fully upon trimming a certain white crape with the eight bouquets, divided for the purpose. The white one, the offering of Mr. St. Leger, was reserved for the place of honour, in Adeline's hand.