“Only a moment, darling,” he answered.
“And it is to be so for ever—oh, it is too much, too good, too great. How can I believe so much in one day?”
It was long before they turned back again towards the house. The sun rose higher and higher, and the winnowed light fell upon them through the leaves reddened by the autumn colours that were already spreading over the woods, from tree to tree, from branch to branch, from leaf to leaf, like one long sunset lasting many days. But they sat side by side not heeding the climbing sun nor the march of the noiseless hours. Their soft voices mingled lovingly with each other and with the murmur of the scarcely stirring breeze. Very reluctantly they rose at last to return, their arms twined about each other until they saw the gables of the house rising above them out of the rich mass of red, and orange, and yellow, and brown, and green that crowned the maples, the oaks and the sycamores. One last long kiss under the shade, and they were out upon the hard brown earth of the drive, in sight of the windows, walking civilly side by side with the distance of half a pace between them. Totty, the discreet, had watched for them until she had caught a glimpse of their figures through the shrubbery and had then retired within to await the joyful news.
Mamie disappeared as soon as they entered the house, glad to be alone if she could not be with the man she loved. But George went straight to her mother in the little morning-room where she generally sat. She looked up from her writing, as though she had been long absorbed in it, then suddenly smiled and held out her hand. George pressed it with more sincerity than he had been able to find for the same demonstration of friendliness on the previous evening.
“I am very glad I took your advice,” he said. “I am a very happy man. Mamie has accepted me.”
“Has she taken the whole morning to make up her mind about so simple a matter?” asked Totty archly.
“Well, not all the morning,” George answered. “We had one or two ideas to exchange afterwards. Totty—no, I cannot call my mother-in-law Totty, it is too absurd! Cousin Charlotte—will that do? Very well, cousin Charlotte, you must telegraph for Sherry’s—I beg his pardon, for Mr. Trimm’s consent. Where is he?”
“Here—see for yourself,” said Totty holding up to his eyes a sheet of paper on which was written a short cable.
“Trimm. Carlsbad, Bohemia. Mamie engaged George Wood. Wire consent. Totty.”
“You see how sure I was of her. I wrote this while you were out there—it is true, you gave me time.”