NAN'S REVOLT.
By Rose Lattimore Alling.
Chapter I.
There was a gentlemanly raising of hats and a womanly fluttering of skirts at the Ferrises' door. The hats were borne down the dark avenue, and could be seen, occasionally, swinging briskly along under the light of successive lampposts. They were very stylish hats.
The skirts made a soft scurrying sound as they rustled upstairs, and along the dim hall, disappearing into the rooms of their owners. They were very dainty skirts.
Nan closed her door, turned up the gas, stood a moment pouting at herself in the glass, pulled the wilted roses from her belt with an impatient jerk, tossed her pretty evening dress across a chair, exchanged her boots for a pair of slippers, and stole noiselessly into Evelyn's room to talk over the party with that dear sister and Cathy, who was staying with them, as a guest.
She found those two persons waiting for her, while they straightened out the fingers of their long gloves.
"Well, girls," began Nan, seating herself lazily upon the middle of the bed, "there is just one solitary comfort left after an utterly stupid evening like this: you can express your feelings to your dearest friends, and here I am to express!"
"Go on, then," sighed her sister, ruefully examining a stain on her fan; "but don't speak too loud or you will waken the household."
"Oh, you needn't be afraid, Evelyn; I'm not in one of my fire-cracker moods. No, I'm cool; I have the calmness of stern resolve; I speak from that tranquil height which lies beyond emotion!" declaimed Nan, pulling out the hairpins from her artistic coils.