“When did he speak, my dear?”

“Last Monday, Ann.”

“Did he say—­much?”

“He asked me to—­marry him.”

“Spoke of marriage, eh?  Did he happen t’ mention th’ word—­wife?”

“Oh, many times, Ann.”

“Good f’r him!  An’ when’s it t’ be?”

“Oh, Ann, dear, I—­I’m afraid it’s—­to-night!”

“T’night?  My land, he’s sure some hasty!”

“And so—­so masterful, Ann!”

“Well, y’ sure need a master.  But t’night—­land sakes!”

“He wrote and told me he would fix things so he could marry me to-night, Ann!”

“Then he’s sure out fixin’ ’em right now.  Lord, Hermy, why d’ ye tremble, girl—­y’ sure love him, don’t ye?”

“So much, Ann, so very much—­and yet—­”

“You ain’t scared of him, are ye?”

“No—­and yet, I—­I think I am—­a little.”

“But you’ll marry him, all the same?”

“Yes.”

“An’ t’night?”

“Yes.  But Ann, dear, when he comes in I want you to keep him with you as long as you can—­will you?”

“Why, sure I’ll keep him, jest as long as—­he’ll let me!  Lord, t’ think as my little Hermy’ll be a married woman this night!”

“And—­oh, Ann, I haven’t any—­trousseau—­”

“Shucks!  You don’t need none.  You’re best as you are.  You won’t need no fluffs an’ frills, I reckon.”

“But, Ann dear,” said Hermione, lifting her head and shaking it ruefully, “I have—­nothing!  And my best dress—­I made it in such a hurry, you remember—­it needs pressing and—­”

“He ain’t marryin’ you fer your clo’es, Hermy—­no, sir!  It’s you he wants an’—­oh, shucks!  What do clo’es matter t’ you, anyway?  You was meant to be one o’ them nymphs an’ goddesses as went about clad—­well, airy.  You’d ha’ done fine with them soft arms an’ shoulders an’—­”

“But I’m not a goddess, Ann, I’m only poor Hermy Chesterton—­with a hole in one stocking and the lace on her petticoat torn, and her other things—­well, look here!” and up whirled gown and petticoat, “see what a state they’re in—­look, Ann!”

“My dear, I am!” nodded Mrs. Trapes over her teacup, “an’ what I say is, it don’t matter a row o’ pins if a stockin’ ’s got a bit of a hole in it if that stockin’ ‘s on sich a leg as that!  An’ as fer—­”

“But,” sighed Hermione, “don’t you understand—­”

“My dear, I do!  I was a married woman once, mind.  An’ I tell you ’beauty doth lie in the eye o’ the beholder’, my dear, an’ the two eyes as is a-goin’ t’ behold you this night is goin’ t’ behold so much beauty as they won’t behold nothin’ else.”

“But—­he loves dainty things, I’m sure.”

“Well, ain’t he gettin’ a dainty thing?  Ain’t he gettin’ th’ daintiest, sweetest, loveliest—­” Here Mrs. Trapes set down her cup again to clasp Hermione in her arms.

“Do you think he’ll—­understand, Ann?”

“He’ll be a fool if he doesn’t!”