John Temple was expected a little before seven o’clock, and a little after seven o’clock he came. We may be sure May was waiting and watching for him, and when she heard a cab stop before the house door she ran into the hall to welcome him. And a moment or two later John came in, and the two clasped each other’s hands in silence, and then John drew May into the dining-room, the door of which was standing open, and clasped her to his breast.
“My own love, my own dear love,” he whispered, with his lips on hers.
But presently May drew back.
“Let me look at you,” she said softly, raising her beautiful eyes and looking into his gray ones. She had pictured his face so often in her day-dreams; pictured it looking down at her as it was looking now, full of love, and with a little sigh of rest the next moment her white eyelids fell.
“You are not changed,” she murmured below her breath.
“Did I not tell you I would never change?” answered John Temple. “My Mayflower, I will not change.”
By this time Miss Margaret in the kitchen was getting exceedingly uneasy that her turbot would be over-boiled and her ducks over-roasted. She therefore put up her head from the kitchen stairs and called to Aunt Eliza, who speedily came to her.
“Eliza, if without disturbing them, you know, dear, do you think you could give them to understand that dinner is ready?” she whispered.
Aunt Eliza nodded her head.
“What shall I do?” she said. “Knock at the door, or cough?”