“Now I wonder what the dickens she can mean?” mused Ravenslee.

“She means jest strawberry jam an’ angel cake an’ water cress, fer tea—­fer your visitors,” said Mrs. Trapes, with a patient sigh.

“Visitors!” repeated Ravenslee, glancing up.  “Why, yes, they’ll be here about four o’clock.”

“An’ will water cress an’ angel cake an’—­”

“Quite enough!  Certainly!  Admirable!” exclaimed Ravenslee.  “But what beats me,” he continued, staring down at the letter again, “is what she can mean by writing this.”

“Not knowin’ what she’s wrote, I can’t say.”

“Mrs. Trapes, I know you are Hermione’s best and staunchest friend, and lately I have ventured to hope you are mine too.  As such, I want you to read this letter—­see if you can explain it!”

So Mrs. Trapes took the letter; and when she had read it through, folded it together with hands very gentle and reverent and stood awhile staring out into the sunlit court.

“My land!” she said at last, her harsh voice grown almost soft, “love’s a wonderful thing, I reckon.  No wonder your eyes shine so.  Yes, love’s a great an’ wonderful thing—­my land!”

“But can you explain,” said Ravenslee, as he took back the letter, “can you tell me what she means by—­”

“Shucks, Mr. Geoffrey!  That sure don’t want no explainin’.  When you said all you did say to her, did y’ say anything about ‘wife’ or ’marriage’?”

“Why, of course I did!”

“Sure?”

“Yes—­er—­that is—­I think so.”

“Not sure then?”

“Well, I may have done so—­I must have done so, but really I—­er—­forget—­”

“Forget!” Mrs. Trapes snorted.  “Now look-a-here, Mr. Geoffrey, what d’ ye want with Hermy; is it a wife you’re after or only—­”

“Mrs. Trapes!” Ravenslee was upon his feet, and before the sudden glare in his eyes Mrs. Trapes gaped and for once fell silent.  “Mrs. Trapes,” said he, still frowning a little, “really you—­you almost—­made me angry.”

“My land!” said she, “I’m kind o’ glad I didn’t—­quite!” and her sniff was eloquent.

“You see,” he went on, glancing down at the letter again, “I’ve learned to love and reverence her so much that your suggestion—­hurt rather!”

“Why, then, Mr. Geoffrey, I’m sorry.  But if your love is so big an’ true as all that—­if you want her t’ be a wife t’ you—­why in the ’tarnal didn’t ye speak out an’ tell her so?”

“I’ll go and tell her so this minute.”

“Y’ can’t!  She’s gone t’ Bronx Park with that b’y, ‘n’ won’t be back all day.”

“Damn!” exclaimed Ravenslee.

“Sure!” nodded Mrs. Trapes.  “Keep on, it’ll do ye good.  But anyway, what y’ got t’ say’ll keep, I guess—­it’ll gush out all the stronger fer bein’ bottled up a day or two.”

“I can write!” he suggested.

“You can—­but you won’t—­you’ll tell her with your two lips—­a woman likes it better spoke—­if spoke proper—­I should!  With arms entwined an’ eyes lookin’ into eyes an’—­oh, shucks!  Will angel cake an’ strawberry jam—­”