“Jess so, Miss Alice, jess so. Why, Dick says he really do b’lieve into he soul dat Mr. Smith b’longs to a show or somethin’ or other; and what Dick don’t know ’bout dem kind o’ mysteries ain’t worth knowin’. Why, didn’t Dick drive de carriage down to Yorktown when dey give de dinner to Ginrul Laughyet, and hear de brass band play and all? Great musicianer? I b’lieve you! Umgh-umgh! To-be-sho! To-be-sho!” “Well!” said Alice, dropping down into a chair with a bump. “Well!” repeated she, with emphasis. “Why, what is the matter?” “Never mind!” said she, tossing her head as she pulled on a stocking. “I’ll make him pay for it!” she added, jerking on the other with a rather superfluous vigor; and then, discontinuing her toilet, she dropped her two hands upon her knees and gazed at vacancy for a moment. “What is it? What is it?” cried the girls, as they saw, gradually diffusing itself over her flushed countenance, an intensely quizzical smile. For her only answer Alice threw herself into an exceedingly comic attitude of exaggerated stiffness, and began playing upon an imaginary piano, tum-tumming, in the most ludicrous way, a commonplace air much in vogue at the time. “Oh, what geese we have made of ourselves!” cried the girls. “Yes,” continued Alice, “here have we, all this time, been playing our little jiggetty-jigs before him, and he affecting not to know Yankee Doodle from Hail Columbia!” And she tossed off a few more bars with inimitable drollery. “Oh, it is too funny!” cried she, springing up, her sense of humor overriding her sense of chagrin; and from that time till the party were ready to descend to the breakfast-room, she was in one of her regular gales, causing the upper regions of the house to resound with incessant peals of laughter. “Why, you dear, crazy little goose,” said one of the girls at last, “the breakfast-bell rang fifteen minutes ago, and all the rest of us are dressed, and there you are still in a most unpresentable costume.” “There, then, I’ll be good,” said Alice, cutting short some caper; and instantly assuming the busiest air, she trotted briskly about the room, laying hands first on one article of dress and then on another, contriving, somehow, to combine with a maximum of ostentatious activity a minimum of actual progress in her toilet. “Here, girls,” said Mary, “I’ll hold her while the rest of you dress her.” So saying, she seized her, and in a moment the submissive victim was surrounded by as lovely a band of lady’s maids as one could wish to see. First one brought her—but, somehow, there seems to arise like an exhalation, just here, a mysterious haze, impenetrable to my bachelor eyes.