“I presume so. Let me tie your hood for you. You can’t find the strings, can you?”
“No, my fingers are all thumbs to-night. I suppose Alfred will ride with you. Aunt will teaze him to. He used to ride with Alice; but he never liked it so well as walking, or going in a carriage. But he is one of those who will do every thing that is required of him.”
She was putting on her over-shoes, so that I could not see what sort of expression accompanied these words.
“You needn’t expect to see him here again to-night, Aunt Alice,” said she, hanging on his arm, at the parlor door. “I shall keep him. We’re going to have something for breakfast that he likes best of any thing; and I know he’ll stay for this, if not for any thing else. Wont you, Alfred?”
“No, no, Paulina. Let him come back,” said aunt. “We want him here to-night. Don’t stay, Alfred.”
“No, I will not, mother,” bowing to go.
“Then I will call you an obstinate and real cross pig, if you don’t,” I heard Paulina say, in tones half-laughing, half-pouting, in the hall.
Uncle took up the Tribune; aunt and I drew near the stove to toast our feet a little.
“I think he attends to her and humors her more and more,” said aunt at length, in a dreamy tone. She had been watching a chink in the stove where the flickering blaze was seen. “Don’t you think he does, Frederic? Frederic, don’t you think Alfred really means to make a wife of Paulina?”
“I think likely he does,” replied uncle, at the same time that he went on with his reading, as if he had not spoken, or aunt either.