"Say, there's something in that, Harriet," remarked her husband good-naturedly. "Harry grew as red as a turkey-cock when you told about his excusing himself for using wrong words. I noticed it."
Linda nodded in King's direction. "It's surely a duty Bertram owes to a benighted world to marry."
He turned to her again with the same direct, quick movement as before.
"Very well. Will you have me, Linda?"
She met his gaze, finding some difficulty in giving her own just the right proportion of light scorn.
"I should like to see myself married to you!" she exclaimed slowly.
"Would you?" he responded with lively interest, and rising, strode across to her, while she retreated to the furthest corner of her chair. "Then we're of the same mind for once." He seized her hand, while the teacup in the other rocked and tinkled in a manner to cause the liveliest apprehension in its owner. "Witness, both of you. Linda and I are engaged."
The girl's strong heart pounded violently as she found that vigorous efforts could not free her hand. Color burned her cheeks. Her father's factotum had never seemed to consider her affairs or herself as of any importance, and her habit of thought toward him was an effort to assure him of absolute reciprocation.
"Let me go," she said sharply. "Don't be silly."
"Come on," he urged. "Let's give your father a pleasant surprise. Henry, Harriet, speak up. Tell her what's for her good."