“No, no, my dear, not cross; only worried and irritable. Hang it, Edie, my pet, it’s a horrible wrench to lose her. No hope of that scoundrel Stratton breaking his neck, or repenting, or anything, is there?”
“Oh, uncle dear, don’t. Myra is so happy. She does love him so.”
“And her poor old father’s nobody now.”
“You don’t think so, uncle,” said the girl, smiling through her tears, as she rearranged the old officer’s tie, and gave a dainty touch to the stephanotis in the buttonhole of his blue frock coat. “And you know you want to see her happily married to the man she loves, and who loves her with all his heart.”
“Heigho! I suppose so.”
“And I’ve come down to ask if you’d like to see her. They’re just putting the last finishing touches.”
“So we may,” cried Sir Mark eagerly. “Does she look nice?”
“Lovely, uncle; all but—”
The girl ceased speaking, and looked conscious.
“Eh? All but what?”