“No,” he said; “though she writes me, I’m glad to say, that she is coming soon.”
“You don’t tell me!” said Adelaide. The cream of the winter season was usually the time Mrs. Baxter selected for her visit.
Her father did not notice her.
“If Mrs. Baxter should ever propose to me,” he went on thoughtfully, “I shouldn’t refuse. I don’t think I should have the—”
“The chance?” said his daughter.
“I was going to say the fortitude. But this,” he went on, “was an elderly cousin, who expressed a wish to come and be my housekeeper. Perhaps matrimony was not intended. Mathilde, my dear, how does one tell nowadays whether one is being proposed to or not?”
In this poignant and unexpected crisis Mathilde turned slowly and painfully crimson. How did one tell? It was a question which at the moment was anything but clear to her.
“I should always assume it in doubtful cases, sir,” said Wayne, very distinctly. He and Mathilde did not even glance at each other.
“It wasn’t your proposal that you came to announce to us, though, was it, Papa?” said Adelaide.
“No,” answered Mr. Lanley. “The fact is, I’ve been arrested.”