Mr. Walraven handed in his ward next, then followed; the
coachman flourished his whip and they were gone.
The happy pair were merely going to Washington. Mr. Walraven had had a
surfeit of Europe, and Washington, this sparkling winter weather, was at
its gayest and best. The Walraven party, with plethoric purses, plunged
into the midst of the gayety at once.
"I like this sort of thing," said Mollie to her guardian; "the theater,
and the opera, and a ball, and two or three parties every night. I like
dancing until broad daylight, and going to bed at six in the morning,
and getting up to breakfast at one. I like matinees at three in the
afternoon, and dinners with seventeen courses, and going to the White
House, and shaking hands with the President, and sailing around the East
Room, and having people point me out as the beauty of the season. It's
new and it's nice, and I never get tired, or pale, or limpy, like most
of the girls. I never enjoyed myself so much in my life, and you would
say the same thing, guardy, only you're in your honey-moon, and not
capable of enjoying anything.
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