"There," said she, in rather a flurried way, "don't keep Mr.
Little waiting." Just as they drove off, Grace came to the window, after a slight irresolution, and kissed her hand to them enchantingly; at which a sudden flood of rapture rushed through Little's heart, and flushed his cheek, and fired his dark eye; Grace caught its flash full in hers, and instinctively retired a step.

They were off.
"How bright and happy they look," said she to her father.

And no wonder.
She sat down, and, somehow, she felt singularly dull and lonely.
Then she dressed for church, languidly.

Then she went to church.
By-and-by she came back from church.
Then she sat down, in her bonnet, and felt alone in the world, and sad; and at last she found herself quietly crying, as young ladies will sometimes, without any visible cause.
Then she asked herself what on earth she was crying about, and herself told her she was a little hysterical fool, and wanted a good beating.
Then she plucked up spirit, and dried her eyes.

Then she took to yawning, and said Sunday was a dull day, and life itself rather a wearisome thing.
Then a servant came to inquire if she was at home.
"What, on Sunday?
Of course not.