After all the weary waiting, Ned and I exchanged only a word. But the word was a delight and a comfort.
More than once the Judge has suggested for me a short absence from the city to win a respite from the newspapers; and this morning, when he saw that the Echo had smuggled an East Side girl into the ballroom last night to tell the Bowery, in Boweryese, how the other half lives, her descriptions of me so incensed him that he almost insisted upon Aunt's packing for Bermuda at once. Ned must have heard of that.
"You will not go away?" he said when he took leave of me.
"You know that Uncle—"
"You will not?"
"No."
I couldn't speak steadily. The low, passionate entreaty told me that he had come to receive that pledge, and I gave it.
Oh, now, now, I cannot be unhappy! I know that he has tried to stay away from me, and why he has not succeeded. Love has been too mighty for us both. Love has conquered us, and I—I shall never again be unhappy!