“How many times have you been to the Falls?” she asked, when Chiffield had shuffled through the photographs twice.

“Three times,” said Chiffield, telling a white lie; for he had seen them at morning, noon, and evening on the same day.  “And how often have you visited them, Miss Whedell?”

“Oh! so often I can’t remember.  My last visit was early last autumn.  Oh! pa, did we go to Niagara Falls before or after our trip to the White Mountains?”

“After it, my child,” replied the father, who maintained a cocked ear toward his child.  “Don’t you recollect we went from the Falls to Lake George, and stayed there till the first week in November?  That was the year we omitted Newport and Saratoga, for a wonder,” he added, conveying the idea, in a look to Mr. Chiffield, that such an omission was a marvel in their annual experiences.

“You love the Falls, I suppose?” said Mr. Chiffield.

“Oh! not much.  I think they’re dreadfully overrated.”  Clementina was determined not to be won too cheaply.

“So I think,” said Chiffield, delighted to speak his real sentiments this time; “though everybody is obliged to praise ’em, because that’s the fashion.”

“But, though the Falls a’n’t much, I must say the balls and hops are delightful.  The fresh air there seems to give one strength to dance all night without a bit of fatigue.  I bought these pictures because they show the hotels and other places where I have had such delicious dances.”

Chiffield execrated dancing, because he had large feet, and legs slightly bowed.  He moved in the cotillon or waltz with a certain elephantine ponderousness and sagacity.  Therefore she tantalized him with these reminiscences.

“You see the Clifton House, there, on the Canada side?  One night I danced eight waltzes, six polkas, four quadrilles, three fancy dances, and wound up, at five o’clock, with the German.”

“Wonderful!” observed Chiffield, not knowing what else to say.

“Perhaps you think I was tired?  Oh! not a particle.  Next night we had a little hop on Table Rock.  It was got up on short notice, but perfectly charming, I assure you.  There were only two fiddles, and sometimes the noise of the Falls would almost drown the music.  The fiddlers had to scrape so hard, that they gave out about three o’clock, and we had to give up the dancing, and go home, very much disappointed.”

“Unlucky, indeed!” interjected Chiffield.

“But the next night we had two extra fiddlers.  They relieved the other two at midnight, and then we danced till daybreak.  Oh! such a glorious time.  Next year, when I heard that a part of Table Rock had tumbled into the horrid river, I could have cried.”

“It was a great shame, indeed!” said Chiffield.

“Isn’t this view of Suspension Bridge natural?” she asked

“Amazing!” said Chiffield; and he ventured to add that he considered that bridge to be a great triumph of human genius.