It was quite amusing to hear them. One would scarcely think she could be the same person they started with. But young girls are always equally enthusiastic in either liking or disliking.
Mrs. Castleton had been an angel because she was pretty and graceful. She was now, if not quite a devil, at least, detestable, because she was discovered to be spoilt. And “that cross Mr. Castleton,” was now “poor Mr. Castleton.” So much for moods and tenses. Traveling is a magic glass.
A few days at Niagara, in equal ecstasies, when Mr. Sutherland and his agreeable friend were met again. Then they turned their faces once more toward home. The gentlemen pursuing their original plan, separated to travel by themselves, but were to meet the ladies again at West Point.
At Albany, however, Mrs. Castleton said to her husband:
“We’ll take the night boat, my dear, I am tired.”
“But you want to stop at West Point, don’t you?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” she replied, “I am tired, and want to get home.”
“Not stop at West Point!” exclaimed the three girls in a breath.
“No,” she replied. “Those balls are stupid things.”
“But, dear Mrs. Castleton,” said Grace, and “Oh, Mrs. Castleton do,” said Ruth, in every accent of imploring urgency.