“Why didn’t you tell my mother?” said I.
“I did think of it, but then”—She gave me a curious glance.
“But what, Mary?”
“Well, I could see plainly enough that there were no secrets between you and her, and I did not wish to take so fine a young gentleman into my confidence,” said Mary. “You will observe I was not out seeking flirtations, but an honest independence.”
My mother was apprised of our engagement in due form, and came to Newport, all innocence, to call on Miss McIntyre, 472 her intended daughter-in-law. Her astonishment at the moment of introduction was quite satisfactory to me.
For the rest, Mary’s talents in making a home agreeable have had since then many years of proof; and where any of the little domestic chasms appear which are formed by the shifting nature of the American working-class, she always slides into the place with a quiet grace, and reminds me, with a humorous twinkle of the eye, that she is used to being second girl.