Apparently Sadie had recovered her good humor, for her laugh was as light and careless as usual when she made answer: 

“Don’t distress yourself unnecessarily, Dr. Douglass; you haven’t done me the least harm.  I assure you I don’t believe a word you say, and I do you the honor of believing that you don’t credit more than two-thirds of it yourself.  Now I’m going to play you the stormiest piece of music you ever heard in your life.”  And the keys rattled and rang under her touch, and drew half a dozen loungers from the halls to the parlor, and effectually ended the conversation.

Three people belonging to that household held each a conversation with their own thoughts that night, which to finite eyes would have aided the right wonderfully had it been said before the assembled three, instead of in the quiet and privacy of their own rooms.

Sadie had calmed down, and, as a natural consequence, was somewhat ashamed of herself; and as she rolled up and pinned, and otherwise snugged her curls into order for the night, scolded herself after this fashion: 

“Sadie Ried, you made a simpleton of yourself in that speech which you made to Dr. Van Anden to-night; because you think a man interferes with what doesn’t concern him, is no reason why you should grow flushed and angry, and forget that you’re a lady.  You said some very rude and insulting words, and you know your poor dear mother would tell you so if she knew any thing about it, which she won’t; that’s one comfort; and besides you have probably offended those delightful black ponies, and it will be forever before they will take you another ride, and that’s worse than all the rest.  But who would think of Dr. Van Anden being such a man?  I wish Dr. Douglass had gone to Europe before he told me—­it was rather pleasant to believe in the extreme goodness of somebody.  I wonder how much of that nonsense which Dr. Douglass talks he believes, any way?  Perhaps he is half right; only I’m not going to think any such thing, because it would be wicked, and I’m good.  And because”—­in a graver tone, and with a little reverent touch of an old worn book which lay on her bureau—­“this is my father’s Bible, and he lived and died by its precepts.”

Up another flight of stairs, in his own room, Dr. Douglass lighted his cigar, fixed himself comfortably in his arm-chair, with his feet on the dressing-table, and, between the puffs, talked after this fashion: 

“Sorry we ran into this miserable train of talk to-night; but that young witch leads a man on so.  I’m glad she has a decided mind of her own; one feels less conscience-stricken.  I’m what they call a skeptic myself, but after all, I don’t quite like to see a lady become one. I shan’t lead her astray.  I wouldn’t have said any thing to-night if it hadn’t been for that miserable hypocrite of a Van Anden; the fellow must learn not to pitch into me if he wants to be let alone; but I doubt if he accomplished much this time.  What a witch she is!” And Dr. Douglass removed his cigar long enough to give vent to a hearty laugh in remembrance of some of Sadie’s remarks.