Bartley saw the sympathy between them and did not obtrude his presence, but often in the twilight when she started away, he would slip out of some corner and walk home with her.

These little walks together were very pleasant, and on one occasion he had asked her the question that made her pale and red by turns, and sent her heart beating with convulsive throbs that made her gasp.

“Maybe I’m over soon in asking you, Mima dear,” he faltered, “but—­but, I couldn’t wait any longer.  You’ve become a part of my life.  I have no hope, no joy, no thought that you are not of.  Won’t you be my wife?”

They were pausing at her gate, and she was trembling from what emotion he only dared guess.  But she did not answer.  She only returned the pressure of his hand, and drawing it away, rushed into the house.  She durst not trust her voice.  Bartley went home walking on air.

Mima did not go directly to Mammy Peggy with her news.  She must compose herself first.  This was hard to do, so she went to her room and sat down to think it over.

“He loves me, he loves me,” she kept saying to herself and with each repetition of the words, the red came anew into her cheeks.  They were still a suspicious hue when she went into the kitchen to find mammy who was slumbering over the waiting dinner.  “What meks you so long, honey,” asked the old woman, coming wide awake out of her cat-nap.

“Oh,—­I—­I—­I don’t know,” answered the young girl, blushing furiously, “I—­I stopped to talk.”

“Why dey ain no one in de house to talk to.  I hyeahed you w’en you come home.  You have been a powahful time sence you come in.  Whut meks you so red?” Then a look of intelligence came into mammy’s fat face, “Oomph,” she said.

“Oh mammy, don’t look that way, I couldn’t help it.  Bartley—­Mr. Northcope has asked me to be his wife.”

“Asked you to be his wife!  Oomph!  Whut did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything.  I was so ashamed I couldn’t talk.  I just ran away like a silly.”

“Oomph,” said mammy again, “an’ whut you gwine to tell him?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Don’t you think he’s a very nice young man, Mr. Northcope, mammy?  And then his father’s so nice.”

Mammy’s face clouded.  “I doan’ see whaih yo’ Ha’ison pride is,” she said; “co’se, he may be nice enough, but does you want to tell him yes de fust t’ing, so’s he’ll t’ink dat you jumped at de chanst to git him an’ git back in de homestid?”

“Oh, mammy,” cried Mima; she had gone all white and cold.

“You do’ know nothin’ ’bout his quality.  You a Ha’ison yo’se’f.  Who is he to be jumped at an’ tuk at de fust axin’?  Ef he wants you ve’y bad he’ll ax mo’ dan once.”

“You needn’t have reminded me, mammy, of who I am,” said Mima.  “I had no intention of telling Mr. Northcope yes.  You needn’t have been afraid for me.”  She fibbed a little, it is to be feared.