“James,” said Nellie seriously, “I give you my word that if there were anybody who could take my place at home, I would marry you in August.”
Emmons nodded. “Well, I can’t ask more than that,” he answered, and added, with a smile, “though it is a perfectly safe offer, for I suppose no one can take your place.”
“No one,” said Nellie, with the conviction of a person who does not intend to look.
The box door opened, and a man half entered, and paused as he saw how prearranged was the tête-à-tête on which he was intruding. But Nellie welcomed him in.
“Don’t be frightened away, Mr. Merriam,” she said, smiling. “Mr. Emmons and I aren’t talking secrets. We weren’t even quarreling—at least I wasn’t. But the lights in front hurt my eyes. Don’t you think at my age I can do as I like?”
Mr. Merriam was eminently of that opinion—especially as a moment later Emmons rose to go.
“Good-night.” Nellie held out her hand. “Don’t forget that you are dining with us on the 22d.”
“I shan’t forget,” Emmons answered. “I’ve written it down.”
“I shouldn’t have to write it down,” said Merriam.
“Ah, you are not such a busy man as he is,” she returned, but she could not help smiling. It was so like James to tell her he had written it down.