Part 51 (1/2)

L. It is only to be seen, I suppose. Well, there's no harm in that.

Girls ought to like to be seen.

DORA (_her eyes flas.h.i.+ng_). Now, you don't mean that; and you're too provoking; and we won't dance again, for a month.

L. It will answer every purpose of revenge, Dora, if you only banish me to the library; and dance by yourselves: but I don't think Jessie and Lily will agree to that. You like me to see you dancing, don't you Lily?

LILY. Yes, certainly,--when we do it rightly.

L. And besides, Miss Dora, if young ladies really do not want to be seen, they should take care not to let their eyes flash when they dislike what people say; and, more than that, it is all nonsense from beginning to end, about not wanting to be seen. I don't know any more tiresome flower in the borders than your especially 'modest' snowdrop; which one always has to stoop down and take all sorts of tiresome trouble with, and nearly break its poor little head off, before you can see it; and then, half of it is not worth seeing. Girls should be like daisies; nice and white, with an edge of red, if you look close; making the ground bright wherever they are; knowing simply and quietly that they do it, and are meant to do it, and that it would be very wrong if they didn't do it. Not want to be seen, indeed! How long were you in doing your back hair, this afternoon, Jessie?

(JESSIE _not immediately answering_, DORA _comes to her a.s.sistance._)

DORA. Not above three-quarters of an hour, I think, Jess?

JESSIE (_putting her finger up_). Now, Dorothy, _you_ needn't talk, you know!

L. I know she needn't, Jessie; I shall ask her about those dark plaits presently. (DORA _looks round to see if there is any way open for retreat._) But never mind; it was worth the time, whatever it was; and n.o.body will ever mistake that golden wreath for a chignon; but if you don't want it to be seen, you had better wear a cap.

JESSIE. Ah, now, are you really going to do nothing but play? And we all have been thinking, and thinking, all day; and hoping you would tell us things; and now--!

L. And now I am telling you things, and true things, and things good for you; and you won't believe me. You might as well have let me go to sleep at once, as I wanted to.

(_Endeavours again to make himself comfortable._)

ISABEL. Oh, no, no, you sha'n't go to sleep, you naughty--Kathleen, come here.

L. (_knowing what he has to expect if_ KATHLEEN _comes_). Get away, Isabel, you're too heavy. (_Sitting up._) What have I been saying?

DORA. I do believe he has been asleep all the time! You never heard anything like the things you've been saying.

L. Perhaps not. If you have heard them, and anything like them, it is all I want.

EGYPT. Yes, but we don't understand, and you know we don't; and we want to.

L. What did I say first?

DORA. That the first virtue of girls was wanting to go to b.a.l.l.s.

L. I said nothing of the kind.

JESSIE. 'Always wanting to dance,' you said.

L. Yes, and that's true. Their first virtue is to be intensely happy;--so happy that they don't know what to do with themselves for happiness,--and dance, instead of walking. Don't you recollect 'Louisa,'

'No fountain from a rocky cave E'er tripped with foot so free; She seemed as happy as a wave That dances on the sea.'

A girl is always like that, when everything's right with her.

VIOLET. But, surely, one must be sad sometimes?