“Yes, I think she’s clever.”
“And, and—and womanly in her feelings.” Mrs. Gresham felt that she could not quite say lady-like, though she would fain have done so had she dared.
“Oh, certainly,” said the doctor. “But, Mary, why are you dissecting Miss Dunstable’s character with so much ingenuity?”
“Well, uncle, I will tell you why; because—” and Mrs. Gresham, while she was speaking, got up from her chair, and going round the table to her uncle’s side, put her arm round his neck till her face was close to his, and then continued speaking as she stood behind him out of his sight—“because—I think that Miss Dunstable is—is very fond of you; and that it would make her happy if you would—ask her to be your wife.”
“Mary!” said the doctor, turning round with an endeavour to look his niece in the face.
“I am quite in earnest, uncle—quite in earnest. From little things that she has said, and little things that I have seen, I do believe what I now tell you.”
“And you want me to—”
“Dear uncle; my own one darling uncle, I want you only to do that which will make you—make you happy. What is Miss Dunstable to me compared to you?” And then she stooped down and kissed him.
The doctor was apparently too much astounded by the intimation given him to make any further immediate reply. His niece, seeing this, left him that she might go and dress; and when they met again in the drawing-room Frank Gresham was with them.