Jerome and Elmira were really the last on the road to the party; Upham people went early to festivities.
"It is very late," Elmira said, nervously; she held up her white skirts, ruffling softly to the wind, with both hands, lest they trail the dewy grass, and flew along like a short-winged bird at her brother's side.

"Please walk faster, Jerome," said she.
"We'll have time enough there," returned Jerome, stepping high and gingerly, lest he soil his nicely blacked shoes.
"It will be dreadful to go in late and have them all looking at us, Jerome." "What if they do look at us," Jerome argued, manfully, but he was in reality himself full of nervous tremors.

Sometimes, to a soul with a broad outlook and large grasp, the great stresses of life are not as intimidating as its small and deceitful amenities.
When they reached Squire Merritt's house and saw all the windows, parallelograms of golden light, shining through the thick growth of trees, his hands and feet were cold, his heart beat hard.

"I'm acting like a girl," he thought, indignantly, straightened himself, and marched on to the front door, as if it were the postern of a fortress.
But Elmira caught her brother by the long, blue coat-tail, and brought him to a stand.
"Oh, Jerome," she whispered, "there are so many there, and we are so late, I'm afraid to go in." "What are you afraid of ?" demanded Jerome, with a rustic brusqueness which was foreign to him.

"Come along." He pulled his coat away and strode on, and Elmira had to follow.
The front door of Squire Merritt's house stood open into the hall the night was so warm, some girls in white were coming down the wide spiral of stair within, pressing softly together like scared white doves, in silence save for the rustle of their starched skirts.