Mr. Harris looked meaningly at her, then turned to Rutley. “I beg Your Lordship’s pardon. I did not mean to ridicule your suggestion. At the time I used the word ‘nonsense’ I was thinking of the fact, the one of love,” replied Mr. Harris.
“James! I never thought when I plighted my love to you it was nonsense!” and Mrs. Harris brushed a handkerchief across her eyes.
“There, there, dear heart!” and Mr. Harris stepped to her side, tenderly turned her face upward and kissed her lips. “That day was the happiest of my life, though I have been happy ever since.”
“Heart of gold!” exclaimed Mrs. Harris, smiling through her tears. “And I have never wished I had turned from that altar of our happy union.”
“I perceive the cause of Sam’s worry now, dear,” and the irrepressible Mr. Harris turned to Rutley, “You see, My Lord, it is this way, a lovely young lady guest—since Mr. Corway’s strange disappearance—is an inadvertent companion of our Sam, and his troubles were brought on by the sly darts of a little fellow with wings.”
“Wrong again!” asserted Mrs. Harris. “James, let me assure you in all candor that Hazel Brooke is not the lady our Sam is worrying about, as the fair democrat can testify.”
Just then Hazel entered the room, a poem of grace; a rose glow overspread her soft cheeks, while her eyes sparkled with health and vivacity.
Rutley’s eyes at once betrayed his admiration.
The girl was quick to notice it and immediately evinced her pleasure by advancing straight to his side.
“Good morning, My Lord. When I plucked this beauty,” displaying a slender stemmed white chrysanthemum which was held between her fingers, “I instinctively felt that it was to adorn the breast of a distinguished friend, and now see where it flies for rest,” and she smilingly fastened the flower to the lapel of his coat.