There will be one next Thursday, the 4th of July. Will you
come down, and join in?"
Bressant threw back his head, with one of his brief laughs. "Come to a
dance? But I don't know how to dance! I never go into society. What
should I do? Thank you for asking me!"
"I thought you might be interested to look on at one of our country
hops," said Abbie, whose eyes observed the young man's manner, as he
spoke, with a closeness that would have embarrassed most men. "There's a
good deal to amuse yourself with besides dancing. The school-master will
be there, and the minister that is now, and Professor Valeyon."
"Professor Valeyon?" repeated Bressant, leaning forward, with his hand
to his ear, and the vivid, questioning expression on his face, which was
peculiar to himself.
The movement appeared to produce a disproportionate effect upon Abbie.
Her finger tremblingly sought her under lip; a quiver, as if from a
sudden pain, passed across her forehead; there was a momentary
unsteadiness in her eyes, and then they fastened, almost rigidly, upon
the young man's face. So habitual was the woman's self-control, however,
that these symptoms, whatever they betokened, were repressed and
annulled, till none, save a particularly sharp-sighted person, would
have noticed them.
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