"Why is it so much a duty?"

"When I think of the dancing-teachers and the expense to papa!
All sorts of fancy instructors--I suppose that's what daughters
have fathers for, though, isn't it? To throw money away on
them?"

"You don't----" Russell began, and his look was one of alarm.
"You haven't taken up----"

She understood his apprehension and responded merrily, "Oh,
murder, no! You mean you're afraid I break out sometimes in a
piece of cheesecloth and run around a fountain thirty times, and
then, for an encore, show how much like snakes I can make my arms
look."

"I SAID you were a mind-reader!" he exclaimed. "That's exactly
what I was pretending to be afraid you might do."

"'Pretending?' That's nicer of you. No; it's not my mania."

"What is?"

"Oh, nothing in particular that I know of just now. Of course
I've had the usual one: the one that every girl goes through."

"What's that?"

"Good heavens, Mr. Russell, you can't expect me to believe