She was afraid of what they were thinking. And she would slip away early,
running down the garden to the gate at the bottom of the lane where her
father waited for her. She loved the still coldness of the night under the
elms, and the strong, tight feel of her father's arm when she hung on it
leaning towards him, and his "There we are" as he drew her closer. Her
mother would look up from the sofa and ask always the same question,
"Well, did anything nice happen?"

Till at last she answered, "No. Did you think it would, Mamma?"

"You never know," said her mother.

"_I_ know everything."

"_Every_thing?"

"Everything that could happen at the Hancocks' dances."

Her mother shook her head at her. She knew that in secret Mamma was glad;
but she answered the reproof.

"It's mean of me to say that when I've eaten four of their ices. They were
strawberry, and chocolate and vanilla, all in one."

"Well, they won't last much longer."

"Not at that rate," her father said.

"I meant the dances," said her mother.