“W-what do you mean?”
“You look as if—if something had happened—not exactly a bad something, but—What is it?”
Miss Maggie laughed softly.
“That’s one of the very nicest things about you, Mr. Stanley-G.-Fulton-John-Smith,” she sighed, nestling comfortably into the curve of his arm, as they sat down on the divan;—“that you notice things so. And it seems so good to me to have somebody—notice.”
“Poor lonely little woman! And to think of all these years I’ve wasted!”
“Oh, but I shan’t be lonely any more now. And, listen—I’ll tell you what made me look so funny. I’ve had a letter from Flora. You know I wrote them—about my coming marriage.”
“Yes, yes,” eagerly. “Well, what did they say?”
Miss Maggie laughed again.
“I believe—I’ll let you read the letter for yourself, Stanley. It tells some things, toward the end that I think you’ll like to know,” she said, a little hesitatingly, as she held out the letter she had brought into the room with her.
“Good! I’d like to read it,” cried Fulton, whisking the closely written sheets from the envelope.