Clambering down from the chair on which she sat perched to show me, Cornelia-like, her jewels, she ran straight out of the room and into the bar⁠—it was just across the passage⁠—and I could hear her telling her mother in loud tones, but apparently more in sorrow than in merriment, that

the gentleman in the parlour wanted to kiss Dolly . I fancy she was determined to save me from this humiliating action, even in spite of myself, for she never gave me the desired permission. She reminded me of an old dog I once knew, who would never suffer the master of the house to dance, out of an exaggerated sense of the dignity of that master’s place and carriage.