were rather nervous. When they had changed their clogs, and Emily had taken off her brown-paper leggings, and he his leather ones, they were not anxious to go into the drawing room. I was surprised—and so was Emily—to see that he had put on dancing shoes.
Emily, ruddy from the cold air, was wearing a wine coloured dress, which suited her luxurious beauty. George’s clothes were well made—it was a point on which he was particular, being somewhat self-conscious. He wore a jacket, and a dark bow. The other men were in evening dress.
We took them into the drawing-room, where the lamp was not lighted, and the glow of the fire was becoming evident in the dusk. We had taken up the carpet—the floor was all polished—and some of the furniture was taken away—so that the room looked large and ample.
There was general hand shaking, and the newcomers were seated near the fire. First mother talked to them—then the candles were lighted at the piano, and Will played to us. He is an exquisite pianist, full of refinement and poetry. It is astonishing, and it is a fact. Mother went out to attend to the tea, and after a while, Lettie crossed over to Emily and George, and, drawing up a low chair, sat down to talk to them. Leslie stood in the window bay, looking out on the lawn where the snow grew bluer and bluer and the sky almost purple.
Lettie put her hands on Emily’s lap, and said softly, “Look—do you like it?”
“What! engaged?” exclaimed Emily.
