"Why, I did!" Deleah cried, and laughed "I danced the Lancers with him--_twice_. And in the grand chain he lifted me off my feet. He's most beautifully strong, Reggie is! Did he lift you off your feet, Bess?" "Reggie would know better than to take such a liberty," Bess said, who was not dark and _petite_ like her sister, but plump and fair and somewhat heavily built. "And you're too old for such romping, yourself, Deleah; and you've nicely spoilt your frock with it!" "Yards of frilling gone," Deleah said happily, as if the loss of so much material was a merit. "Just a teeny bit came off to start with; Tom Marston caught his toe in it, and went, galloping the whole length of the room carrying it with him and his partner before I could stop him. Oh, _how_ I laughed!" "Mama won't laugh! She said you must wear the same frock at the Arkwrights' dance next week." "The white silk, underneath, is all right--look! Only a new net skirt over it. Mama won't mind it in the least." "If you have a new net over-skirt I shall have one too. You're not to have an evening frock more than me. So come! I shall have blue again. Blue tarlatan with white frillings on the flounces. Blue is my colour. Reggie said so to-night." "I suppose he admired you in that wreath of forget-me-nots?" "He didn't say I was to tell you, if he did! You go to bed, and to sleep, Deleah; and don't interfere." "I'm getting out of my clothes as fast as I can. Why aren't you getting out of yours, Bess?" "I'm not going to bed yet. I'm waiting for mama. I've something to say to her." "What about? Oh, Bess, do tell! I always tell you everything." She paused, stepped out of her dress which lay a heap of shining silk and billowy net upon the floor, looked at her sister. "It's something about Reggie," she declared with eager interest. "Yes, it is! Oh, Bessie, tell me first. Your face is as red as red! Tell me first!" You mind your own business, Deda; and brush your hair." "I'm not going to brush it, to-night: I can't. It's so tangly. I'm just going to say my prayers, and hop into bed." "Mama won't like it if you don't brush your hair. I shall tell her if you don't, Deda." "Tell her, then!" Deda challenged, and hurried into her nightgown, and flung herself on her knees by the side of her bed, and hid her face in her hands, preparatory to making her devotions. A soft tapping on the door before it opened, and Mrs. Day, candlestick in hand, appeared. A pretty woman of medium height, middle-aged, as women allowed themselves to be frankly, fifty years ago. She wore a handsome dress of green satin, a head-dress of white lace, green velvet and pink roses almost covering her plentiful dark hair.