"Yes, Nan, I have a realizing sense that you are more than half right; for I do believe that, when, after such an evening, I survey my giddy self in the glass, I sigh more often than I smile."
Nan, who was venting her yet unspent spite in braiding her hair into tight little curls, gave her head an emphatic nod and declared her fell intention of finding some way out of her slough of despond. Then as the last braid dwindled to three hairs, she descended from the platform, and thus concluded:
"Ladies and gentlemen, thanking you for your kind attention, I beg leave to announce that there will be another solemn conclave in regard to this vital subject, on the side veranda, to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. Good-night, you dear old things, you are nearly asleep, and I've wearied you more than did that wretched party. Why, no! Cathy's eyes are wide open! Mercy on us, Cathy thinks she's thinking! Go on, dear, it wont harm you at all."
"NAN LAY IN THE HAMMOCK THINKING."
With this parting fling, she hopped to the door, holding in her hand one slipper, which she waved tragically, exclaiming, "Farewell, base world!" and was gone.
"What a girl she is!" said Evelyn, as the audience unbent itself. "She didn't give me a chance to agree with or to combat her theories; but, do you know, I am tired of it, too, just as much as Nan is, only she has vigor enough to rebel at the thraldom of her bright, natural self, while I keep on and on from mere inertia."
"Well," said Cathy, slowly winding her watch, "I was thinking, as Nan said—but it is one o'clock, and I shall not say another word until to-morrow."