"What was I to you? what may I hope to be? I have ascertained that you are unmarried--are you heart-free? May I come to you? Dare I say--reply at once? I would not wring from you a hasty decision, but remember my suspense. May every blessing be yours! MORTON LACY." CHAPTER XXXI. Mr. Grant, wife and sister-in-law were "dear, nice old folks," who liked to see young people enjoy themselves, prim and staid 'though they were; and they had their fill of delight, that important Saturday; for three merrier mad-caps Sunnybank never held. Ida was the ringleader in the mirthful frolic. "She's so pleased 'cause Mars' Charles is comin'," said Rachel, in a pretended "aside" to Emma and Laura; and Ida laughed, instead of reproving the gratuitous explanation. "I do want to see Charley--Bless him!" said she. "Is he a _very_ dear friend?" asked Laura. "_Very_ dear!" Ida emphasized as strongly;--"almost on a par with Carry. We will have fun while he is here;" and she launched into a recital of some of his freaks and stories; eliciting bursts of merriment from her listeners, which pealed even to the door of Miss Betsey's room, and hurried Mrs. Grant down stairs, "to hear what the joke was." The girls were upon the carpet in the middle of the large parlor, cutting pink and white paper roses. The graceful running cedar, they were to enliven, draped the walls, and hid the tarnished mouldings of the old portrait frames;--geraniums and mignionette breathed sweetly through the parted muslin curtains; but nothing was so fair in the dame's eyes as the centre group. Laura was a brunette--black eyes, nectarine bloom and pouting rosy lips--the handsomest of the trio; Emma's dove-like eyes, classic oval face and varying complexion placed her next. Ida sat between them, speaking with much animation of voice and action--the glee of a child, and the modulations of a clever elocutionist. "Well!" said Mrs. Grant, when the narration was ended, "if you all ain't a happy set, I'll give up my judgment!" "Don't do that, I beg!" said Ida. "We need it this minute, to tell us whether to mix these roses in the wreaths, or to dress this room with white ones, and the dining-room with pink." Mrs. Grant set her head to one side, and her hand upon her hip. It was a serious question. "Well, I don't know exactly. Either way's very pretty. What do _you_ say?" "Oh! but we agreed to leave it to you. White ones look best by lamplight." "_So_ they do! Well 'spose you put them in here, as the party meets in the parlor." "Thank you, ma'am. I am of the same opinion myself." "And I"--"and I"--said the others; and Mrs. Grant, pleased at having, for once in her life, expressed a decided opinion, "reckoned Becky and Molly wouldn't beat them beds half enough if she didn't follow them up."