"The snow's fine for sleighing: I'll come for you in a cutter at ten minutes after two." "I can't possibly go." "If you don't," he said, "I'm going to sit in the cutter in front of the gate, wherever you're visiting, all afternoon, and if you try to go out with anybody else he's got to whip me before he gets you." And as she laughed--though she blushed a little, too--he continued, seriously: "If you think I'm not in earnest you're at liberty to make quite a big experiment!" She laughed again.

"I don't think I've often had so large a compliment as that," she said, "especially on such short notice--and yet, I don't think I'll go with you.
"You be ready at ten minutes after two." "No, I won't." "Yes, you will!" "Yes," she said, "I will!" And her partner for the next dance arrived, breathless with searching.
"Don't forget I've got the third from now," George called after her.
"I won't." "And every third one after that." "I know!" she called, over her partner's shoulder, and her voice was amused--but meek.
When "the third from now" came, George presented himself before her without any greeting, like a brother, or a mannerless old friend.
Neither did she greet him, but moved away with him, concluding, as she went, an exchange of badinage with the preceding partner: she had been talkative enough with him, it appeared.

In fact, both George and Miss Morgan talked much more to every one else that evening, than to each other; and they said nothing at all at this time.

Both looked preoccupied, as they began to dance, and preserved a gravity, of expression to the end of the number.

And when "the third one after that" came, they did not dance, but went back to the gallery stairway, seeming to have reached an understanding without any verbal consultation, that this suburb was again the place for them.
"Well," said George, coolly, when they were seated, "what did you say your name was ?" "Morgan." "Funny name!" "Everybody else's name always is." "I didn't mean it was really funny," George explained.