“Nothing of the sort, my girl. Ormsby and I have settled that we are not to be separated. He’s looking out for a big place, where there’ll be a corner for an old man. Come, come, have done with this shilly-shallying. What on earth is the use of a two years’ 224 engagement? At the end of the two years, do you suppose you will be able to break your word and Ormsby’s heart? No, my girl, it’s not right. Either you are going to marry Ormsby, or you are not. If you are, then it might as well be to-morrow as next month, and next month as next year. And as for two years—bah! Come, now, I’ll fix it for you: four weeks from to-day.”
“Impossible, father—impossible! I couldn’t get my clothes ready—”
“Clothes be hanged! He’s going to marry you, not your kit. You’ve got clothes enough to supply a boarding-school. Six weeks—I give you six weeks.—Ah! here’s Ormsby. Ormsby, it’s settled. Dora is to marry you in six weeks, or—she’s no child of mine.”
“I—I didn’t say so, father,” cried Dora, blushing hotly.
“I’m the happiest man in America!” cried Ormsby, coming over with outstretched hands, and a greater show of feeling than he had ever before displayed. He looked exceedingly handsome, and almost boyish.
“Say it is true!—say it is true!” he cried.
“Oh, as you please, as you please.” And, turning to her father to hide her embarrassment, Dora murmured, “You’re not really ill, father?”
“I tell you, my child, I shall be,” roared the colonel, 225 with a wink at Ormsby, “if this anxiety goes on any longer. Publish the date, Ormsby. Put it in the papers.”
“At once!” cried the delighted lover. “I saw Farebrother to-day, and he assures me he has just the place we want, not twenty miles out. Shall we go over in the motor, and look at it? Will you come and choose your home—our home, Dora?”
“Of course she will,” cried the colonel, starting up with wonderful alacrity for a sick man. “I’ll go and order the motor, this minute.”