“Oh, what a weary boy!” said Dora one night, when I met her eyes as I was shutting up my desk.
“What a weary girl!” said I. “That’s more to the purpose. You must go to bed another time, my love. It’s far too late for you.”
“No, don’t send me to bed!” pleaded Dora, coming to my side. “Pray, don’t do that!”
“Dora!” To my amazement she was sobbing on my neck. “Not well, my dear! not happy!”
“Yes! quite well, and very happy!” said Dora. “But say you’ll let me stop, and see you write.”
“Why, what a sight for such bright eyes at midnight!” I replied.
“Are they bright, though?” returned Dora, laughing.