Then, running to the door, he cried in a loud voice, “Mes amis—mes amis—entrez.”
Harry Clayton’s heart beat, as the next minute Jared Pellet entered with Patty and Janet, who both started with surprise, Patty colouring deeply, and the latter looking from one to the other with something nearly akin to anger.
Harry hesitated but for one moment; and then, obeying the dictates of his heart, and heedless of the presence of father and friends, caught Patty in his arms, and kissed her tenderly.
“Aha!” said Canau; “but you do not apologise, as I did, mon ami. I did draw back, and make offer of my hand.”
“So I do—now and for ever,” cried Harry, “if Patty here will take it. You will forgive me, I know, Mr Pellet, for seeming brusque, but I cannot talk,—I cannot make professions. I am indeed, though, earnest and true, and I believe that you have read me aright.”
“Yes, yes—yes, yes,” said Jared, softly. “I know, but it is not for me to read. We will go and sit with Janet, and you will join us soon.”
“But, papa!” cried Patty, blushing a deeper crimson, as she hurried to his side.
“Well, my child,” he said, as he kissed her white forehead fondly, “shall I stay then?”
“Miss Pellet will, I hope, give me a short interview alone,” said Harry, crossing to her side as Canau and Janet left the room.
“Patty, dear Patty,” he said, “I am no courtly wooer, only a poor student.”