“Oh, but to me the mystery—that is the most wonderful part!” she cried. “I love having everything mysterious!”
He gave her hand a little squeeze, and she looked up at him, happily thrilled. She pictured herself going through life with him like this, thrilled, always thrilled, each day full of delicious mystery and romance.
He began murmuring a bit of nursery jingle, which sounded in her charmed ears like the rarest music:
“‘Curly Locks, Curly Locks, wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash dishes nor feed the swine,
But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
And feast upon strawberries, sugar, and cream!’”
“Oh, I wonder,” she laughed softly, “—will it really be like that? How did this wonderful thing ever happen to me?”
III
As he rather suspected, Mr. King was destined to encounter a brief impediment in the person of Stella’s father. Who was Mr. King? What did any one really know about him, and why so much mystery about the future? But the answer was always simply: “Why, Utterbourne—your old friend Captain Utterbourne.” Mr. Meade’s position was certainly not a simple one, especially since he seemed to be the only one attempting, even hesitatingly, to stand in the way of true love. And, though he tried to see the situation all clearly and advise what seemed best, the worst of it was he felt Mr. King’s peculiar fascination, too, in a sense, and so seemed unable to make up his mind as to the values of an unusual situation.