Many charming conversations take place at the foot of the
stairs, or while one of the parties is holding the latch of a door,--in
the shadow of porticoes, and especially on those outside balconies which
some of our Southern neighbors call "stoops," the most charming places in
the world when the moon is just right and the roses and honeysuckles are
in full blow,--as we used to think in eighteen hundred and never mention
it.
On such a balcony or "stoop," one evening, I walked with Iris. We were
on pretty good terms now, and I had coaxed her arm under mine,--my left
arm, of course. That leaves one's right arm free to defend the lovely
creature, if the rival--odious wretch! attempt, to ravish her from your
side. Likewise if one's heart should happen to beat a little, its mute
language will not be without its meaning, as you will perceive when the
arm you hold begins to tremble, a circumstance like to occur, if you
happen to be a good-looking young fellow, and you two have the "stoop" to
yourselves.
We had it to ourselves that evening.
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