But Patt was too true to the rights and privileges of her sex to say anything directly that might seem to commit her friend. She patted her uncle's cheek, therefore, like a saucy minx as she was, colored still higher, looked archly at me, then averted her eyes consciously, as if betraying a secret, and returned to her seat as demurely as if the subject had been one of the gravest character.
"But are you serious in what you have told us, Roger?" asked my grandmother, with more interest than I supposed the dear old lady would be apt to feel on such a subject. "Is not this settlement a matter of fancy?"
"True as the gospel, my dear mother."
"And is Martha right? Is Mary Warren really the favored young lady?"
"For a novelty, Patt is right."
"Does Mary Warren know of your intention, or has her father been consulted in the matter?"
"Both know of it; we had it all over together, last evening, and Mr. Warren consents."
"To what?" I cried, springing to my feet, the emphasis on the last word being too significant to be overlooked.
"To receive Hugh Roger Littlepage, which is my own name, recollect, for a son-in-law; and what is more, the young lady 'is agreeable.'"
"We all know that she is more than agreeable," put in Patt; "she is delightful, excellent; agreeable is no word to apply to Mary Warren."