“I say, youngster, do you think Mary is fond of you?”
“I’m sure she is—very,” I said.
He fidgeted in his chair, and then continued:
“And you like her?”
“Very, very, very much. She was horribly cross at first, but towards the last nobody could have been kinder.”
“I say, how old are you?”
“Between thirteen and fourteen,” I said.
“Ah, to be sure; of course, lad, so you are,” he said, brightening up and shaking hands. “Yes, I’ll give your love to her. I say, boy, it won’t be long first,” he continued, rubbing his hands.
“Won’t it?” I said, easily divining what he meant.
“No, not long now, for we’ve been engaged a precious long while.”