“Did he invite you to Merrifield?” Jo asked. “Yes, and more. He has consented—”
“Merrifield is delightful,” she interrupted. “We live in the old house that was built by my grandfather. I've always said that if I ever had the luck to be engaged and married, I'd like it all to happen there.”
I took her hand and said: “Look here, young lady, I've made up my mind that I shall turn the key in that door and keep you a prisoner until you've promised to marry me. You've established a sort of precedent in your treatment of poor Sam—don't you remember it?”
“Dear old Sam!” she exclaimed. “I couldn't have forgotten you if I had tried. He was forever talking about you, and to every letter he added a postscript, which contained the last news of C. H. He's watched your career very closely.”
I sat down by her side, and drew her close to me.
“I really cannot wait,” I said.
“Nor I,” she whispered; and then I felt her soul in her lips, and I need say no more of that day, best of these many of which I have tried to tell you, save this: Jo sad her father promised to delay their home-going to meet my mother and sister, who would be with us in the morning.