Then the cat sprang into Annie’s blue lap and she stroked his yellow back and looked at Von Rosen with eyes suddenly reflective, rather coolly.

“After all, I, nor nobody else, ever heard of such a thing as this,” said she.  “Do you mean that you consider this an engagement?” she asked in astonishment.

“I most certainly do.”

“After we have only really seen and talked to each other twice!”

“It has been all our lives and we have just found it out,” said Von Rosen.  “Of course, it is unusual, but who cares?  Do you?”

“No, I don’t,” said Annie.  They leaned together over the yellow cat and kissed each other.

[Illustration:  They leaned together over the yellow cat and kissed each other]

“But what an absurd minister’s wife I shall be,” said Annie.  “To think of your marrying a girl who has staid at home from church and played cards with her grandmother!”

“I am not at all sure,” said Von Rosen, “that you do not get more benefit, more spiritual benefit, than you would have done from my sermons.”

“I think,” said Annie, “that you are just about as funny a minister as I shall be a minister’s wife.”

“I never thought I should be married at all.”

“Why not?”

“I did not care for women.”

“Then why do you now?”

“Because you are a woman.”

Then there was a sudden movement in front of them.  The leaf-shadows flickered; the cat jumped down from Annie’s lap and ran away, his great yellow plume of tail waving angrily, and Margaret Edes stood before them.  She was faultlessly dressed as usual.  A woman of her type cannot be changed utterly by force of circumstances in a short time.  Her hat was loaded with wisteria.  She wore a wisteria gown of soft wool.  She held up her skirts daintily.  A great amethyst gleamed at her throat, but her face, wearing a smile like a painted one, was dreadful.  It was inconceivable, but Margaret Edes had actually in view the banality of confessing her sin to her minister.  Of course, Annie was the one who divined her purpose.  Von Rosen was simply bewildered.  He rose, and stood with an air of polite attention.

“Margaret,” cried Annie, “Margaret!”

The man thought that his sweetheart was simply embarrassed, because of discovery.  He did not understand why she bade him peremptorily to please go in the house and see if Aunt Harriet were awake, that she wished to speak to Mrs. Edes.  He, however, went as bidden, already discovering that man is as a child to a woman when she is really in earnest.

When he was quite out of hearing, Annie turned upon her friend. 
“Margaret,” she said, “Margaret, you must not.”

Margaret turned her desperate eyes upon Annie.  “I did not know it would be like this,” she said.

“You must not tell him.”

“I must.”

“You must not, and all the more now.”