“Alfred, you must solemnly promise me one thing,” she said, at length.
“Sweet,” said Alfred, who began to feel that he had dined very much, indeed—“sweet, come here!”
Fanny flushed and wrinkled her brow. Mr. Dinks was frightened.
“Oh no, dear—no, not at all,” said he.
“My love,” said she, in a voice as calm but as black as her eyes, “do you promise or not? That’s all.”
Poor Dinks! He said Yes, in a feeble way, and hoped she wouldn’t be angry. Indeed—indeed, he didn’t know how much he had been drinking. But the fellers kept ordering wine, and he had to drink on; and, oh! dear, he wouldn’t do so again if Fanny would only forgive him. Dear, dear Fanny, please to forgive a miserable feller! And Miss Newt’s betrothed sobbed, and wept, and half writhed on the sofa in maudlin woe.
Fanny stood erect, patting the floor with her foot and looking at this spectacle. She thought she had counted the cost. But the price seemed at this instant a little high. Twenty-two years old now, and if she lived to be only seventy, then forty-eight years of Alfred Dinks! It was a very large sum, indeed. But Fanny bethought her of the balm in Gilead. Forty-eight years of married life was very different from an engagement of that period. Courage, ma chère!
“Alfred,” said she, at length, “listen to me. Go to your mother before she goes to bed to-night, and say to her that there are reasons why she must not speak of your engagement to any body, not even to Hope Wayne. And if she begins to pump you, tell her that it is the especial request of the lady—whom you may call ‘she,’ you needn’t say Hope—that no question of any kind shall be asked, or the engagement may be broken. Do you understand, dear?”
Fanny leaned toward him coaxingly as she asked the question.
“Oh yes, I understand,” replied Alfred.