"That's the best thing, after all," said Bill, laughing, "married first, and then engaged for the rest of one's life!"
He held me very closely.
"I'll cherish you always," he said, "all my life long. I've wanted you so—Mavis. You'll never know. God bless you, my dearest!"
"Father," I said in my heart, "you were right: you knew. I'm so happy—"
And my heart answered me.
"Where are you going?" said I, sternly, to my husband, as he laid me back on my pillows and turned away.
"Outside," said he, with the old, impish grin, "to dance a fandango on the lawn! And, incidentally, to put on some clothes and pretend an intelligent interest—which I don't in the least experience—in Harry Reynolds destroyed sugar-crop. Bless those incendiary natives!" he added, piously.
"Back soon?" I asked.
"Don't look at me like that!" said Bill severely, "or I won't be able to go! As your physician I forbid you to endanger my pulse. It is hardly normal now. Try and rest, dear, and when I come back I want to see more steady color in your cheeks. You've had a pretty bad shock, Mavis—"
"I should say I have!" I said, in tones I vainly tried to infuse with self-pity. "How about yourself?"