is not likely that any one would _look_ at me when Barbara was by--you
can have no notion," continue I, speaking very fast to avoid
contradiction, "how well she looks when she is dancing--never gets hot,
or flushed, or _mottled_ as so many people do."

"And _you?_ how do _you_ look?"

"I grow purple," I answer, laughing--"a rich imperial purple, all over.
If you had once seen me, you would never forget me."

"Go on: tell me something more about Barbara!"

He has settled himself with an air of extreme repose and enjoyment. We
really _are_ very comfortable.

"Well," say I, nothing loath, for I have always dearly loved the sound
of my own voice, "do you see that man on the hearth-rug?--do not look at
him this very minute, or he will know that we are speaking of him. I
cannot imagine why father has asked him here to-night--he wants to marry
Barbara; he has never said it, but I know he does: the boys--we all,
indeed--call him _Toothless Jack_! he is not old _really_, I suppose--
not more than fifty, that is; but for Barbara!--"

I think that Sir Roger is beginning to find me rather tiresome:
evidently he is not listening: he has even turned away his head.

There is a movement among the guests, the first detachment are bidding
good-night, the rest speedily do the like. Father follows his favorite
miss into the hall, cloaks her with gallant care, and through the door I
hear him playfully firing off parting jests at her as she drives away,