“Oh, Tom,” she demurred blushingly, “I shall be young enough at eighteen; and you are barely twenty-one.”

But Tom proved an eloquent pleader, and love a still more persuasive advocate.  Clara spoke to the major the same evening, who looked grave at the suggestion, and said he would think about it.  They were both very young; but where both parties were of good family, in good health and good circumstances, an early marriage might not be undesirable.  Tom was perhaps a little unsettled, but blood would tell in the long run, and marriage always exercised a steadying influence.

The only return, therefore, which Ellis received for his well-meant effort to ward off Mrs. Ochiltree’s embarrassing inquiries was that he did not see Clara upon his next visit, which was made one afternoon while he was on night duty at the office.  In conversation with Mrs. Carteret he learned that Clara’s marriage had been definitely agreed upon, and the date fixed,—­it was to take place in about six months.  Meeting Miss Pemberton on the street the following day, he received the slightest of nods.  When he called again at the house, after a week of misery, she treated him with a sarcastic coolness which chilled his heart.

“How have I offended you, Miss Clara?” he demanded desperately, when they were left alone for a moment.

“Offended me?” she replied, lifting her eyebrows with an air of puzzled surprise.  “Why, Mr. Ellis!  What could have put such a notion into your head?  Oh dear, I think I hear Dodie,—­I know you’ll excuse me, Mr. Ellis, won’t you?  Sister Olivia will be back in a moment; and we’re expecting Aunt Polly this afternoon,—­if you’ll stay awhile she’ll be glad to talk to you!  You can tell her all the interesting news about your friends!”

XI

THE BABY AND THE BIRD

When Ellis, after this rebuff, had disconsolately taken his leave, Clara, much elated at the righteous punishment she had inflicted upon the slanderer, ran upstairs to the nursery, and, snatching Dodie from Mammy Jane’s arms, began dancing gayly with him round the room.

“Look a-hyuh, honey,” said Mammy Jane, “you better be keerful wid dat chile, an’ don’ drap ‘im on de flo’.  You might let him fall on his head an’ break his neck.  My, my! but you two does make a pretty pictur’!  You’ll be wantin’ ole Jane ter come an’ nuss yo’ child’en some er dese days,” she chuckled unctuously.

Mammy Jane had been very much disturbed by the recent dangers through which little Dodie had passed; and his escape from strangulation, in the first place, and then from the knife had impressed her as little less than miraculous.  She was not certain whether this result had been brought about by her manipulation of the buried charm, or by the prayers which had been offered for the child, but was inclined to believe that both had cooperated to avert the threatened calamity.