him for some time. Mamma has
made great preparations for me this season, and I intend to take the
full benefit of them. It would be an awful disappointment to her if
she found out that my heart was not my own. There is a sea of pleasure
before me, and I mean to be in the full tide of the swim."

"And if in that 'swim' your foot tips the tangles, take care, dear
Rose. You can never tell what depths there are beneath them."

"What do you mean by 'tangles'?"

"I mean unwise or unworthy lovers and companions--too much pleasure in
any form--dancing, dressing, flirting, champagne drinking, and things
of that kind. You know."

"Champagne drinking! Yes, it is delightful. It makes me feel as if my
blood were made of flame. I am half divine after a glass of champagne.
But I never take more than one glass. I know better."

"I would not take that one. If a thing is dangerous in large quantity,
it is not safe in small quantity. I would not touch it at all."

"I could not induce Antony to taste with me, though I drank from the
glass myself."

"Your drinking would only grieve him; it would not tempt him. Did you
persuade him to dance?"

"He persuaded me to go into the conservatory with him, instead. I did
not really care to dance. It was nicer to listen to Antony. Well, we
are going away the day after to-morrow, and then, 'When shall we two
meet again?' How soon can you come to New York?"

"It will not be soon, Rose. There are so many things to look after
that only I understand. Father is lost without me, especially in the
winter. In the summer, he has his garden."

"Where is Antony this afternoon? I expected to find him at home."

"Just before you came, I saw father and Antony drive away in the
buggy. Remove your bonnet and cloak, and take tea with us. They are
sure to be back by tea-time."

"Thank you for the invitation. I was just going to ask you to ask me.
I will stay. It will be dark after tea; but then, Antony can drive me
home."

"Antony can drive you home. And you know there will be plenty of
moonlight."

"Do you remember that exquisite moonlight night last August, when we
sent the carriage home, and you and Harry, and I and Antony, walked
together through the woods? The air was full of the resinous odor of
the pines, and it was sweeter than a rose garden. And the moonlight
was like--I do not know what it was like, Yanna."

"Like the moonlight of '_The Midsummer Night's Dream_.' If we had not
unpeopled th