“Nonsense! I shall not go to bed yet. I want to talk a bit, Dora; you ought to feel flattered by my coming to tell you, first of anybody. Guess now,—what has happened?”
Nothing ill, certainly—for she held her head up, laughing a little, looking very handsome and pleased.
“You never will guess, for you never believed it would come to pass, but it has. Treherne proposed to me to-night.”
The news quite took my breath away, and then I questioned its accuracy. “He has only been giving you a few more of his silly speeches, he means nothing. Why don't you put a stop to it all?”
Lisabel was not vexed—she never is—she only laughed.
“I tell you, Dora, it is perfectly true. You may believe or not,—I don't care—but he really did it.”
“How, when, and where, pray?”
“In the conservatory; beside the biggest orange-tree; a few minutes before he left.” I said, since she was so very matter-of-fact, perhaps, she would have no objection to tell me the precise words in which he “did it.”
“Oh, dear, no; not the smallest objection. We were joking about a bit of orange-blossom Colin had given me, and Treherne wanted me to throw away; but I said 'No, I liked the scent, and meant to wear a wreath of natural orange-flowers when I was married.' Upon which he grew quite furious, and said it would drive him mad if I ever married any man but him. Then he got hold of my hand, and—the usual thing, you know.” She blushed a little.”
“It ended by my telling him he had better speak to papa, and he said he should, tomorrow. That's all.”