When the study door opened—with no preliminary knock—there was annoyance in the clergyman's manner as his eyes turned toward the intruder. This time there were two intruders,—Cyrus and his fiancée. Mr. Heywood frowned when the two small people advanced to the center of the room. He was in no mood for answering children's questions. But, as he frowned, Cyrus bowed—one of his best and most elaborate efforts, bringing the heel of one foot against the instep of the other, all with a gracious, sweeping salutation of his free hand—the one that was not leading Ruth. It was the greeting of one gentleman of the old school to another, of deference and good wishes. Mr. Heywood, partly, perhaps, from his thoughts being in China, found himself also bowing deferentially, as if to some exalted and venerable person. Suddenly realizing the absurdity of such an obeisance he straightened up and frowned again. Then he spoke more harshly than if he had not blundered into such a foolish action.
"Well, children, what is it?"
Cyrus spoke. "We have come to get married."
"Who?"
"We. We—us."
"What do you mean?"
"Ruth and I want to get married."
Mr. Heywood frowned again and blinked, as if to summon his wandering wits, undecided whether to believe or doubt his eyes and ears. His thoughts, barely returned from China, seemed unequal to a sudden grasp of the situation.
"What are you saying?"