“Is she anxious that you should marry?” asked Steve with some wonder.
Nannie looked at him with wide eyes for a moment. It seemed hardly possible that one could be so dull of comprehension, and yet there was no doubting Steve's grave, earnest expression.
“Yes,” was her only reply, but inwardly she was convulsed with laughter as she looked ahead and in thought rapidly sketched a scene.
And so Steve walked up to his task with but a faint conception of its magnitude.
“I have called, Mrs. Lamont,” he said in his easy, gentlemanly way, “to ask for the hand of your niece. Nannie and I have had a little talk about it and understand each other, I think, and now we await your consent.”
“You surely don't expect my consent,” said Mrs. Lamont.
Steve's shyness and gentleness seemed to return to him.
“I really,” he said hesitatingly, “had not thought of any reason why we should not have it.”
“Mr. Loveland—well, this is intensely trying to me. You've no idea, I am sure, how I dislike to be so plain; but can you not understand that you are hardly a suitable match for Nannie? You are very poor, I believe.”
“Why, no,” said Steve gently.