"What do you mean? Oh! not in _that_ way--" (with an unblushing heart-whole laugh). "Lucky for me that we do not." "Lucky for _you_?" (interrogatively). "Why _will_ you make me say things that sound mock-modest?" cry I, reddening a little this time. "You know perfectly well what I mean--it is not likely that any one would _look_ at me when Barbara was by--you can have no notion," continue I, speaking very fast to avoid contradiction, "how well she looks when she is dancing--never gets hot, or flushed, or _mottled_, as so many people do." "And _you_? how do _you_ look?" "I grow purple," I answer, laughing--"a rich imperial purple, all over. If you had once seen me, you would never forget me." "Go on: tell me something more about Barbara!" He has settled himself with an air of extreme repose and enjoyment. We really _are_ very comfortable. "Well," say I, nothing loath, for I have always dearly loved the sound of my own voice, "do you see that man on the hearth-rug?--do not look at him this very minute, or he will know that we are speaking of him. I cannot imagine why father has asked him here to-night--he wants to marry Barbara; he has never said it, but I know he does: the boys--we all, indeed--call him _Toothless Jack_! he is not old _really_, I suppose--not more than fifty, that is; but for Barbara!--" I think that Sir Roger is beginning to find me rather tiresome: evidently he is not listening: he has even turned away his head. There is a movement among the guests, the first detachment are bidding good-night, the rest speedily do the like. Father follows his favorite miss into the hall, cloaks her with gallant care, and through the door I hear him playfully firing off parting jests at her as she drives away. Then he returns to the drawing-room. Sir Roger has gone to put on his smoking-coat, I suppose. Father is alone with his wife and his two lovely daughters. We make a faint movement toward effacing ourselves, but our steps are speedily checked. "Barbara! Nancy!" "Yes, father" (in a couple of very small voices). "May I ask what induced you to keep my guests waiting half an hour for their dinner to-night?" No manner of answer. _How_ hooked his nose looks! how fearfully like a hawk he has grown all in a minute! "When you have houses of your own," he continues with iced politeness, "you may of course treat your visitors to what vagaries you please, but as long as you deign to honor _my_ roof with your presence, you will be good enough to behave to my guests with decent civility, do you hear?" "Well, Roger, how is the glass? up or down? What is it doing? Are we to have a fine day to-morrow?" For Roger apparently has got quickly into his smoking-coat: at least he is here: he has heard all. Barbara and I _crawl_ away with no more spring or backbone in us than a couple of torpid, wintery flies.