“She has made me one!” “I _knew_ you would love her—still I am so glad to _feel_ it.” “Love her! dearest Sophie! I was prepared to love her for your sake; now I love her for her own!” “And I _knew_ you would, as I said, and now I rejoice to feel it; now, then, you feel the same pleasure that I do in the thought of having the sweet girl with us?” “Have her with us! Yes, that is the best of it—we shall have her with us—by our fireside in winter, and about our piazza in summer, and all around us—so we can see her always, and caress her as much as we please, and love her as dearly, and make her beautiful being as happy as possible—have her with us—see here, Sophie, I am afraid I should be tempted to kick any fellow who should come courting her—yet of course it must come to that, and it will come very soon to that. Beauty and sensibility and susceptibility like hers will not long remain unwooed, unwed, in a naval station full of gay and romantic young officers; and even now I am afraid Hagar will be wanting her, and that Rosalia will prefer to go with the companion of her childhood—and that chap, Raymond, will take sides with them, and we shall lose the dear girl after all.” “You need not be afraid of that. Hagar does not want her. Hagar loves no human being, neither man, woman, nor child, no one except Raymond. Hagar’s affections are very concentrative. She has never loved any creature but Raymond, and she has loved him intensely from childhood, and indeed I fear there is as much tyranny as tenderness in her affection for her husband.” “Oh! well! never mind them, Sophie; let them torture and transport each other in turn, as young lovers of their temperament must for a while; only let them leave this charming Rosalia to light our sober, quiet home. What are you laughing at, you partridge?” “Thinking how very sober any home is going to be that calls such a boisterous fellow as you are, master.” “Humph! but, Sophie, but it will be _you_ that will make it quiet, my love! my dove! _you_, Sophie—come! does not my boisterousness subside into gentle joy by your side? Say, am I not quiet enough?—I can get quieter!” “No, don’t—I—I think—perhaps I like you all the more for being just what you are.” “Are you really contented with me, Sophie?—I have been so much afraid, sometimes, that my ‘boisterousness’ should shock and alarm you—now does it, ever?” “Never—never—it is never rude or violent, you know, Gusty, and it only lifts my own sober cheerfulness into agreeable gaiety.” You do not care to hear all that was said by the partners in this “mutual admiration” firm—they walked and talked, as long as _you_ walked and talked, with you remember whom—or as long as you _expect_ to walk and talk with, perhaps you _do not_ know whom. They did not return to the house until summoned to dinner. A large company sat down at table. A dancing party in the evening closed the day, and the guests dispersed.