“Why, yes,” answered the girl. “Didn't you accept?”
“Why, yes,” Mrs. Pasmer admitted. “But aren't you tired?”
“Oh, not in the least. I feel as fresh as I did this morning. Don't you want me to go?”
“Oh yes, certainly, I want you to go—if you think you'll enjoy it.”
“Enjoy it? Why, why shouldn't I enjoy it, mamma!”
“What are you thinking about? It's going to be the greatest kind of fun.”
“But do you think you ought to look at everything simply as fun?” asked the mother, with unwonted didacticism.
“How everything? What are you thinking about, mamma?”
“Oh, nothing! I'm so glad you're going to wear that dress.”
“Why, of course! It's my best. But what are you driving at, mamma?”