“Look,” said Lydia, “how well the little woman in green dances. She has danced all the evening with the same man.” And my little fairy godmother in fluffy green flew past us, as gay and young and happy a little person as I had seen in a month of Sundays. She was so buoyant and pretty that she did one good to see, and my foolish inner self had made a romance about her and the good-looking young fellow, her partner of a whole evening, before little Cecilia Bennett had time to say primly:
“That is Mrs. So-and-So.”
“And that is not, I take it, Mr. So-and-So?” Lydia remarked.
“Mr. So-and-So is the big, red-haired man talking with the woman in white lace,” replied Cecilia, while disapproval fairly oozed from her.
“So there you are, and every one is satisfied,” Lydia brushed it aside lightly.
“That is how we look to outsiders!” croaked my other self.
Then little Cecilia Bennett piped up virtuously, “Even if I didn’t love my wife any longer, I should look after her! Until I was engaged, I was never allowed to dance a whole evening with one man——”
And as we laughed, she went on with some warmth:
“I don’t care, I think a man ought to take care of his wife; don’t you, Felicia?”
“And a little child shall lead us,” sententiously remarked my inner self. But Felicia only said flippantly: