"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?"
Cornelia glanced quickly at her sister, but was reassured by the grave
composure of her aspect. Nevertheless, she was deeply engrossed in her
new dress as she made reply.