“Well,” replied Mrs. Winthrop, evidently awaiting a further statement.
“I haven’t tried to win her love, nor have I told her that I love her, because I knew that in your plans for her future you had never included me. I know what you think about family, and I don’t want to make ill return for the courtesy and kindness you and Mr. Winthrop have always shown me.”
“David, you have one rare trait––gratitude. I did have plans for Carey––plans built on the basis of ‘family’; but I have learned from you that there are other things, like the trait I mentioned, for instance, that count more than lineage. Before we went abroad I knew Carey was interested in you, with the first flutter of a young girl’s fancy, and I was secretly antagonistic to that feeling. But last night, David, I came to feel 230 differently. I envied your mother when I read those banners. If I had a son like you, I’d feel honored to take in washing or anything else for him.”
At the look of ineffable sadness in his eyes her tears came.
“David,” she said gently, after a pause, “if you can win Carey’s love, I shall gladly give my consent.”
He thanked her incoherently, and was seized with an uncontrollable longing to get away––to be alone with this great, unbelievable happiness. In realization of his mood, she left him under pretext of ordering the luncheon. On her return she found him exuberant, in a flow of spirits and pleasantry.
“Mrs. Winthrop,” he said earnestly, as he was taking his departure, “I am not going to tell Carey just yet that I love her.”
“As you wish, David. I shall not mention our conversation.”
She smiled as the door closed upon him.
“Tell her! I wonder if he doesn’t know that every time he looks at her, or speaks her name, 231 he tells her. But I suppose he has some foolish mannish pride about waiting until he is governor.”