Miss Mackenzie begged that she might be allowed a fortnight to think of it.
"Certainly," said the happy man.
"And you must not be surprised," said Miss Mackenzie, "if I make some inquiry about Miss Floss."
"Any inquiry you please," said Mr Maguire. "It is all in that woman's brain; it is indeed. Miss Floss, perhaps, has thought of it; but I can't help that, can I? I can't help what has been said to her. But if you mean anything as to a promise from me, Margaret, on my word as a Christian minister of the Gospel, there has been nothing of the kind."
She did not much mind his calling her Margaret; it was in itself such a trifle; but when he made a fuss about kissing her hand it annoyed her.
"Only your hand," he said, beseeching the privilege.
"Pshaw," she said, "what's the good?"
She had sense enough to feel that with such lovemaking as that between her and her lover there should be no kissing till after marriage; or at any rate, no kissing of hands, as is done between handsome young men of twenty-three and beautiful young ladies of eighteen, when they sit in balconies on moonlight nights. A good honest kiss, mouth to mouth, might not be amiss when matters were altogether settled; but when she thought of this, she thought also of his eye and shuddered. His eye was not his fault, and a man should not be left all his days without a wife because he squints; but still, was it possible? could she bring herself to endure it?
He did kiss her hand, however, and then went. As he stood at the door he looked back fondly and exclaimed—
"On Monday fortnight, Margaret; on Monday fortnight."