“Me and Fanny here are going to be married,” he couldn’t help saying.
“I’m sure I wish ye joy, sir, and”—here the shopman glanced at Fanny—“I envy you, indeed I do.”
Sandie must now have a drop of Scotch. Then they had dinner. Sandie couldn’t help calling the waiter “sir,” nor Fanny either.
“Hold down your ear, sir,” Sandie said, as the waiter was helping him to Gorgonzola. “We’re going to be married, Fanny and I. Cried three times in one Sunday. What think ye of that?”
Of course, the waiter wished him joy, and Sandie gave him a shilling.
“I hope you’ll not be offended, sir, but just drink my health, you know.”
The joys of the day ended up with a visit to the theatre. Fanny was astonished and delighted.
Oh, what a day that was! Fanny never forgot it. They left by a midnight train for home, and all the way, whenever Fanny shut her eyes, everything rose up before her again as natural as life—the charming streets, the gay windows, and the scenes she had witnessed in the theatre, and the gay crowds in every street. And so it was in her dreams, when at last she fell asleep.
But both Fanny and Sandie went about their work next day in their week-day clothes as quietly as if nothing very extraordinary had happened, or was going to happen in a few days’ time.
Of course, after he had eaten his brose, Sandie must “nip up,” as he phrased it, to have a look at the cottage.