"Pardon me! Alice," exclaimed Theodore Temple, "I will
try to break that habit for your sake. I was not aware that it
pained you so much--a lady's word is law!" and he bowed gallantly.
"No, no! Base your giving up of the habit upon principle, then it
will be permanent. Much obliged for the compliment"--Alice bowed
with assumed dignity, and her sweet face dimpled into a playful
smile, "but I have no faith in these pretty speeches. Remember, now,
I have your promise to try to break the habit; you will forfeit your
word if you do not; so you see your position, don't you?" Thus
saying, and without waiting for a reply, the young lady left them.
"I believe Miss Clinton is right, after all," remarked Temple's
companion. "What is the use of jesting on such subjects? We never
feel any better after it, and we subject ourselves to the
displeasure of those who respect these things. I pass my word to
give it up, if you will, Temple."
"Agreed!" was Theodore's brief answer. Without saying how mingled
the motive might have been, which induced the young men to forsake
the habit, they _did_ forsake it permanently. Aunt Mary's lonely
life was at last smiled upon by a sunbeam--and that sunbeam was the
soul of Alice, which she had turned to the light.
Pages:
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36