"I do not know, Edith! I cannot tell; when you have deliberately chosen one of your own fancy, in preference to one of mine—the man I care most for in the world, and whom I chose especially for you; why, you've speared me right through a very tender part; however, as I said before, what you do, do quickly! I cannot bear to be kept upon the tenter hooks!"
"I will talk with Michael, uncle," said Edith, meekly.
She went out, and found him pacing the lawn at the back of the house.
He turned toward her with a glad smile, took her hand as she approached him, and pressed it to his lips.
"Dearest Edith, where have you been so long?"
"With my uncle, Michael. I have my uncle's 'ultimatum,' as he calls it."
"What is it, Edith?"
"Ah! how shall I tell you without offense? But, dearest Michael you will not mind—you will forgive an old man's childish prejudices, especially when you know they are not personal—but circumstantial, national, bigoted."
"Well, Edith! well?"
"Michael, he says—he says that I may give you my hand—"