“It’ll all work round,” soliloquized he; “very good beginning this.  If I could have spoken more explicitly—­but she’ll be prepared, and that’s a great step toward clearing things up.  Gee up!  Dolly.”

CHAPTER VIII.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

“Sophie,” said Cornelia, several days afterward, “do you know, I believe I’ll stay for that party at Abbie’s, after all.”

The two sisters were engaged in planning out an evening dress, and Sophie’s bed was so covered with the confusion thereof, that her quiet little face, appearing above, looked odd by contrast.

“I’m glad,” replied she, with the simplicity and lack of ornamentation that made her words forcible; “and I’m sure Abbie will be glad, too.”

“There’s no reason why I shouldn’t, you know,” resumed the elder sister, falling into that pleasing vein of argument wherein we consciously express the views of our interlocutor; “a few days won’t make any difference to Aunt Margaret, and I wouldn’t like to have poor old Abbie think that I slighted her, just because I am going to enter New York society!  Besides, I think this dress will look very nice when it’s finished—­don’t you?”

“Yes, dear,” said Sophie, smiling to herself.  “Is Mr. Bressant going to the party?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  No, I should suppose not.  He’s a great student, you know, and is going to be a minister and every thing.  That isn’t the sort of people that takes interest in parties.  Besides, he couldn’t hear the music, so, of course, he couldn’t dance.”

“Some deaf people can hear music, and even compose it.”

“Can they?  But then just imagine having to talk to a deaf person in a ballroom! it would be awfully embarrassing, don’t you think so?”

Sophie, who knew her sister well, and was very shrewd besides, began to suspect that it would not be displeasing to Cornelia to be opposed, and even out-argued upon the question of Mr. Bressant’s probable attendance at the party, and qualifications to make himself agreeable when there.  She enjoyed the amusement, in Her demure way, and was besides interested to hear something about her father’s pupil.

“I should think,” said she, in a modestly suggestive manner, keeping her eyes busy with her work, “that it would be less embarrassing at a party than anywhere.  You know everybody expects to say and hear nothing but nonsense, and there isn’t a great deal said even of that.  And you’re obliged to talk loud, at any rate, on account of the music and noise.”

“Well, you may be right,” admitted Cornelia, who certainly did take her sister’s opposition with admirable good-nature.  “And I was thinking, Sophie, perhaps if they are not very deaf indeed, you know they might get so used to the sound of one’s voice as to hear it even when it wasn’t so much raised.”

“Why, certainly!” assented Sophie; “to some kinds of voices, at any rate; probably to a woman’s more easily than to a man’s.  Is Mr. Bressant very deaf, Neelie?”