“Oh, papa!” in a remonstrating tone.
“You were willing to wed your old hermit?”
“I was content then. He was very kind to me.”
“Content then, eh? Suppose you were told he was your real husband?”
“Sir, he is not!” cried Aurelia, frightened.
“If he were?”
“I would try to do my duty,” she said, in a choked voice.
“Silly child, don’t cry. And how, if after these fool’s tricks it turns out that the other young spark is bound to that red-faced little spitfire and cannot have you?”
“Papa, don’t!” she cried. “You know he is my husband in my heart, and always will be, and if he cannot come back to me take me home, and I will try to be a good daughter to you,” and she hid her face on his shoulder.
“Poor child, it is a shame to tease her,” said her father, raising up her face; “I only wanted to know which of them you would wish to put on the ring again. I see. You need not be afraid, you shall have the ruby one. But as for the little gold one, wait for that till it is put on in church, my dear. Ah! and there’s the flutter of his wings, or rather the rattle of his spurs. Now then, young people, you shall not be hindered from a full view of each others lineaments. It is the first time you ever had a real sight of each other, neither of you being in a swoon, is it not? I trust you do not repent upon further acquaintance. Aurelia got as far as the shoe-buckles once, I believe.”