“Yes, I did, Miss Post. What are we a waiting for? how long will you keep this ardent heart on the fence?”
“Mr. Mahone, you speak so metaphorically that I can’t quite understand.”
“When—when are we to be married—to unite our fortunes and share and share alike?”
Miss Post cast down her eyes and began to roll up one of her cap strings, feeling herself to be a young lady of romance with an ardent hero before her.
“When will that confounded—that gorgeous wedding dress be done?”
“It—it can be finished in an hour,” faltered the damsel, “I was just fastening flowers into the bridal veil.”
“Then what is in the way? Who is to hinder us from being married this very night?” demanded the lover whom a single glimpse of that check had rendered half frantic with greed.
“To-night! Oh! Mr. Mahone!”
“Yes, this very night. The dress is ready—I have got what would amount to a basket of champagne stored away, and my heart—my heart!”
“Don’t! don’t appeal to me in that way; you know my weakness, you know how impossible it is to refuse you anything.”