Then the dessert came and the wine, and an hour and a half had passed, and still no one showed any signs of leaving the table, and the old gentleman made spasmodic attempts at conversation, at intervals of ten minutes.

The hour and a half became two hours, and Gypsy was so thoroughly tired out sitting still, it seemed as if she should scream, or upset her finger-bowl, or knock over her chair, or do some terrible thing.
"You said you were twelve years old, I believe ?" said the old gentleman, suddenly.

This was the fifth time he had asked that very same question.
Joy trod on Gypsy's toes under the table, and Gypsy laughed, coughed, seized her goblet, and began to drink violently to conceal her rudeness.
"Twelve years?
and you live in Vermont ?" remarked the old gentleman placidly.

This was a drop too much.

Gypsy swallowed her water the wrong way, strangled and choked, and ran out of the room with crimson face, mortified and gasping.
She knew, by a little flash of her aunt's eyes, that she was ashamed of her, and much displeased.