; only when John calls this afternoon, you must
explain it all to him, for he's ordered the carriage and the luncheon
and everything, and he'll be so disappointed."

I've long ago found out that if you want to do anything you should
never seem too anxious about it.

Aunt Deborah is fonder of John than she likes to confess. I know why,
because I overheard my old nurse tell the housekeeper when I was quite
a little thing; and what I hear, especially if I'm not intended to
hear it, I never forget. There were three Miss Horsinghams, all with
white hands--poor mamma, Aunt Deborah, and Aunt Dorcas. Now Aunt
Deborah wanted to marry old David Jones (John's papa). I can just
remember him--a snuffy little man with a brown wig, but perhaps he
wasn't always so; and David Jones, who was frightened at Aunt
Deborah's black eyes, thought he would rather marry Aunt Dorcas. Why
the two sisters didn't toss up for him I can't think; but he _did_
marry Aunt Dorcas, and Aunt Deborah has been an old maid ever since.
Sometimes even now she fixes her eyes on Cousin John, and then takes
them off with a great sigh. It seems ridiculous in an old lady, but I
don't know that it is so. That's the reason my cousin can do what he
likes with Aunt Deborah; and that's the reason why, when he called on
that rainy afternoon, he persuaded her to let me go down to Ascot with
him all alone by our two selves the following day.

How pleasant it is to wake on the morning of a gala day, to hear the
carts and cabs rumbling and clattering in the streets, and to know
that you must get up early, and be off directly after breakfast, and
will have the whole livelong day to amuse yourself in. What a bright
sunshiny morning it was, and what fun I had going with John in a
hansom cab to Paddington--I like a hansom cab, it goes so fast--and
then down to Windsor by the train in a carriage full of such smart
people, some of whom I knew quite well by name, though not to speak
to. The slang aristocracy, as they are called, muster in great force
at Ascot. Nor could anything be more delightful than the drive through
Windsor Forest up to the Course--such a neat phaeton and pair, and
John and I like a regular Darby and Joan sitting side by side. Somehow
that drive through Windsor Forest made me think of a great many things
I never think of at other times. Though I was going to the races, and
fully prepared for a day of gaiety and amusement, a half-melancholy
feeling stole over me