Then Mrs. Pasmer had made up her mind that Alice had met Mavering somewhere, and that this outburst was the retarded effect of seeing him.  During the last six weeks she had assisted at many phases of feeling in regard to him, and knew more clearly than Alice herself the meaning of them all.  She had been patient and kind, with the resources that every woman finds in herself when it is the question of a daughter’s ordeal in an affair of the heart which she has favoured.

The storm passed as quickly as it came, and Alice sat upright casting off the wraps.  But once checked with the fact on her tongue, she found it hard to utter it.

“What is it, Alice?—­what is it?” urged her mother.

“Nothing.  I—­Mr. Mavering—­we met—­I met him at the Museum, and—­we’re engaged!  It’s really so.  It seems like raving, but it’s true.  He came with me to the door; I wouldn’t let him come in.  Don’t you believe it?  Oh, we are! indeed we are!  Are you glad, mamma?  You know I couldn’t have lived without him.”

She trembled on the verge of another outbreak.

Mrs. Pasmer sacrificed her astonishment in the interest of sanity, and returned quietly:  “Glad, Alice!  You know that I think he’s the sweetest and best fellow in the world.”

“O mamma!”

“But are you sure—­”

“Yes, Yes.  I’m not crazy; it isn’t a dream he was there—­and I met him—­I couldn’t run away—­I put out my hand; I couldn’t help it—­I thought I should give way; and he took it; and then—­then we were engaged.  I don’t know what we said:  I went in to look at the ’Joan of Arc’ again, and there was no one else there.  He seemed to feel just as I did.  I don’t know whether either of us spoke.  But we, knew we were engaged, and we began to talk.”

Mrs. Pasmer began to laugh.  To her irreverent soul only the droll side of the statement appeared.

“Don’t, mamma!” pleaded Alice piteously.

“No, no; I won’t.  But I hope Dan Mavering will be a little more definite about it when I’m allowed to see him.  Why couldn’t he have come in with you?”

“It would have killed me.  I couldn’t let him see me cry, and I knew I should break down.”

“He’ll have to see you cry a great many times, Alice,” said her mother, with almost unexampled seriousness.

“Yes, but not yet—­not so soon.  He must think I’m very gloomy, and I want to be always bright and cheerful with him.  He knows why I wouldn’t let him come in; he knew I was going to have a cry.”

Mrs. Pasmer continued to laugh.

“Don’t, mamma!” pleaded Alice.

“No, I won’t,” replied her mother, as before.  “I suppose he was mystified.  But now, if it’s really settled between you, he’ll be coming here soon to see your papa and me.”

“Yes—­to-night.”

“Well, it’s very sudden,” said Mrs. Pasmer.  “Though I suppose these things always seem so.”

“Is it too sudden?” asked Alice, with misgiving.  “It seemed so to me when it was going on, but I couldn’t stop it.”