"Now, Charles," said he, in answer,—and how the English accents thrilled the tears into my eyes,—"now, Charles, tell me what you mean by growing so tall and being so self-possessed. You are above my shoulder, and you have lost all your impudence."
"No, Mr. Davy, I haven't—kiss me!" said I; and I threw my arms about him, and clung on there till curiosity swelled unconquerable.
"Oh, Mr. Davy, how extraordinary it is of you to come so suddenly, without telling me! And mother never said the least word about it. Oh, Millicent, how did you get her to let you come? And, oh," suddenly it struck me very forcibly, "how very strange you should come with Mr. Davy! Is anybody ill? No, you would have told me directly, and you would not be dressed so."
Millicent looked up at Davy with an unwonted expression, a new light in her eyes, that had ever slept in shade; and he laughed again.
"No, nobody is ill, and she would not be dressed so if I had not given her that bonnet, for which she scolded me instead of thanking me,—for it came from Paris."
"Oh!" I exclaimed, and I felt all over bathed in delight. I ran to Millicent, and whispered into that same bonnet, "Oh, Millicent! are you married to Mr. Davy?"
She pulled off one of her pale-colored gloves and showed me the left hand. I saw the ring—oh, how strange I felt,—hot and cold; glad and sorry; excited, and yet staid! I flew to my first friend and kissed his hand: "Dear Mr. Davy, I am so glad!"
"I thought you would be, Charles. If I had anticipated any objection on your part, I should have written to you first!"
"Oh, Mr. Davy!" I cried, laughing, "but why did they not write and tell me?"
"My dear brother, it was that we wished to spare you all disappointment."