Jerrold Harmer looked very eager, and yet he looked somewhat doubtfully at Prudence.  Her eyes were eloquent with entreaties.  Finally he laughed, and said, “I should certainly like to stay, but you see I want to come back to-morrow.  Now, will I dare to come back to-morrow if I stay for dinner to-night?  Wouldn’t Connie say that was disgracing the parsonage?”

Fairy laughed delightedly.  “That is very good,” she said.  “Then you will stay.  I’ll try to fix it up with Connie to save the reputation of the house.  Now, do not talk too much, Prue, and—­what shall we have for dinner?  We only say dinner when we have company, Mr. Harmer.  What we have is supper.”

Prudence contracted her brows in the earnest endeavor to compose a menu suitable for this occasion.  “Mashed potatoes, and—­use cream, Fairy.  You’d better let Lark do the mashing, for you always leave lumps.  And breaded veal cutlet,” with a significant glance, “and creamed peas, and radishes, and fruit.  Will that be enough for you, Mr. Harmer?”

“Oceans,” he said contentedly.

“Well, I’ll collect the twins and Connie and we will try to think up a few additions.  Where’s the money?”

“In the dungeon, and the key is on the nail above the door.  And the silverware is there, too,” with another significant glance.

After that, Prudence lay back happily on the pillows and smoothed the lace on her mother’s silk dressing gown.

“Talk to me,” she said, “tell me about where you live, and what you do,—­your work, you know, and how you amuse yourself.  I want you to amuse me now, Mr. Harmer.”

“You called me Jerry this morning.”

“Yes, I know.  Do you want me to call you Jerry still?”

“Yes, Prudence, I do.  Do you mind if I move my chair a little closer?”

“No, put it right here.  Now, I am ready.”

“But there’s nothing interesting about me.  Let’s talk of——­”

“It’s interesting to me.  Tell me about your business.”

“You don’t care anything about business, I am sure.”

“I care about your business.”

“Do you, Prudence?—­You look so sweet this afternoon.  I nearly blurted it out before the whole family.  Wouldn’t the twins have laughed?  It would have disgraced the parsonage.  I think Mr. Starr is awfully lucky to have five girls, and all of them pretty.  But isn’t it strange that the prettiest and dearest one of them all should be the oldest daughter?”

“Oh, but I’m not really—­” Prudence began earnestly.  Then she stopped, and added honestly, “But I am glad you think so.”

No, they did not quote poetry, they did not discuss the psychological intricacies of spontaneous attraction, they did not say anything deep, or wise, or learned.  But they smiled at each other, with pleased investigating eyes.  He put his hand on the coverlet, just near enough to touch the lace on the sleeve of her silk dressing gown.  And together they found Paradise in the shabby sitting-room of the old Methodist parsonage that afternoon.