“Annie!” exclaimed her mother, in rebuke of the liberty she took. “But if you mean young Mr. Macintosh, what on earth can he want with me?”
“Bide a minute, mother,” answered Annie, “and he’ll tell you himself.”
So Mrs. Melville went to the door and opened it to the young man, who stood there shy and expectant.
“Mrs. Melville,” he said, “I have come to tell you that I love your Annie, and want to make her my Annie as well. I am more sorry than I can tell you to confess that I am not able to marry at once, but please wait a little while for me. I shall do my best to take you both home with me as soon as possible.”
She looked for a moment silently in his face, then, throwing her arms round his neck, answered:
“And I wonder who wouldn’t be glad to wait for your sweet face to the very Day of Judgment, sir, when all must have their own at last.”
Therewith she burst into tears, and, turning, led the way to the parlor.
“Here’s your Hector, Annie,” she said as she opened the door. “Take him, and make much of him, for I’m sure he deserves it.”
Then she drew him hastily into the room, and closed the door.
“You see,” Hector went on, “I must let you both know that my mother is dead against my having Annie. She thinks, of course, that I might do better; but I know she is only far too good for me, and that I shall be a fortunate as well as happy man the day we come together. She has already proved herself as true a woman as ever God made.”