Mr. Cullen went over to Mr. Monroe’s after dinner, and brought Paulina back with him to take her supper with us and spend the evening. She was in the new Thibet, the new collar and under-sleeves, so that she was rather stiff, rather careful about her ways, but pretty as a rose and lily tied together, and Mr. Cullen evidently thought the same. He ate a part of her Baldwin apple, when she complained of its being so large that she could neither hold it with both her hands (and she spread them before him to let him see how much too small they were for that) nor eat it if she could hold it. She didn’t allow Ponto to come very near her new Thibet, or new under-sleeves, and so Mr. Cullen let the little fellow run over himself and me. He played backgammon with her, game after game, as he talked with the rest, and allowed her to beat him in every game; whereupon she patted his shoulder with her dice-box and called him a careless goose. “Rosamonde Hedelquiver,” said she to me, as she was putting on her furs to go, “what made you keep on this common-looking dress, and these plain duds,” touching her finger to my linen cuffs and collar. “I thought you would be all dressed up in your best, and so I put these on. I was mad with myself for my pains when I saw you.” “Ah, this is nothing, any way, Paulina. Here is your hood; it is a beauty.” “Yes, I like it pretty well. I suppose you’ll ride every day on horseback, just as you have done?” “I presume so. Let me tie your hood for you. You can’t find the strings, can you?” “No, my fingers are all thumbs to-night. I suppose Alfred will ride with you. Aunt will teaze him to. He used to ride with Alice; but he never liked it so well as walking, or going in a carriage. But he is one of those who will do every thing that is required of him.” She was putting on her over-shoes, so that I could not see what sort of expression accompanied these words. “You needn’t expect to see him here again to-night, Aunt Alice,” said she, hanging on his arm, at the parlor door. “I shall keep him. We’re going to have something for breakfast that he likes best of any thing; and I know he’ll stay for this, if not for any thing else. Wont you, Alfred?” “No, no, Paulina. Let him come back,” said aunt. “We want him here to-night. Don’t stay, Alfred.” “No, I will not, mother,” bowing to go. “Then I will call you an obstinate and real cross pig, if you don’t,” I heard Paulina say, in tones half-laughing, half-pouting, in the hall. Uncle took up the Tribune; aunt and I drew near the stove to toast our feet a little. “I think he attends to her and humors her more and more,” said aunt at length, in a dreamy tone. She had been watching a chink in the stove where the flickering blaze was seen. “Don’t you think he does, Frederic? Frederic, don’t you think Alfred really means to make a wife of Paulina?” “I think likely he does,” replied uncle, at the same time that he went on with his reading, as if he had not spoken, or aunt either.