"Say yes, I entreat you, dear Mrs. Hunter, or I shall be miserable for life."
"Pray get up, Mr. Craven."
"Never, till I hear the sweet word, 'yes.'"
"Yes, then," she answered, hastily, scarcely knowing what she said.
At this moment, while Mr. Craven was yet on his knees, the door opened suddenly, and Katy, the Irish maid-of-all-work, entered:
"Holy St. Pathrick!" she exclaimed, as she witnessed the tableau.
Mrs. Hunter blushed crimson, but Mr. Craven was master of the situation. Cleverly taking advantage of it to fix the hasty consent he had obtained, he turned to Katy with his habitual smirk.
"Katy, my good girl," he said, "you must not be too much startled. Shall I explain to her, dear Mrs. Hunter?"
The widow, with scarlet face, was about to utter a feeble remonstrance, but he did not wait for it.