'You! you! Mr. Dutton!' cried Nuttie, with a moment's recoil. 'You don't mean that you care for me.'
'I know it is preposterous—' he began.
'Preposterous! Yes, that you should care one bit for silly, foolish, naughty, self-willed me. Oh, Mr. Dutton, you can't mean it!'
'Indeed, I would have kept silence, and not disturbed you with my presumption, if—'
'Hush!' she cried. 'Why, it makes me so glad and so proud, I don't know what to do. I didn't think anybody was good enough for you—unless it was dear, dear mother—and that it should be me.'
'It is true,' he said gravely, 'my younger days were spent in a vain dream of that angel, then when all that was ended, I thought such things were not for me; but the old feeling has wakened, it seems to me in greater force than ever, though I meant to have kept it in control—'
'Oh, I am glad you didn't! It seems as if the world swam round with wonder and happiness,' and she held his hand as if to steady herself, starting however as Annaple opened the door saying, 'We've been sending telegrams with the good news.'
Then an arch light came into her bright eyes, but the others were behind her, and she said no more.