The things we do!

Ethel declares
that her uncle always will talk of other people's courage, and never say
a word about his own; "and the only reason," she says, "which made me
like that odious Sir Thomas de Boots, who laughs so, and looks so red,
and pays such horrid compliments to all ladies, was, that he praised you,
uncle, at Newcome, last year, when Barnes and he came to us at Christmas.
Why did you not come? Mamma and I went to see your old nurse; and we
found her such a nice old lady." So the pair talk kindly on, riding
homewards through the pleasant summer twilight. Mamma had gone out to
dinner; and there were cards for three parties afterwards. "Oh, how I
wish it was next year!" says Miss Ethel.
Many a splendid assembly, and many a brilliant next year, will the ardent
and hopeful young creature enjoy; but in the midst of her splendour and
triumphs, buzzing flatterers, conquered rivals, prostrate admirers, no
doubt she will think sometimes of that quiet season before the world
began for her, and that dear old friend, on whose arm she leaned while
she was yet a young girl.


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