“You don’t wish to delay our marriage?”
“No; come up-stairs and see mother.”
I took his hand before he could prevent me. I ran up the wide stairs holding it. Still clasping it in mine, I entered my mother’s room.
She looked up at the sound of our feet. Her eyes rested on our faces—Cousin Tom’s pale, mine flushed. Then the pink glow deepened on her cheeks. She held out her hands to us both.
“Come,” I said to my cousin. He followed me, and my mother laid her little hand in his.
“Mother,” I said, “this is my cousin, Tom Valentine; we are going to marry each other.”
“My dear Rose, my child!”
“There is no hurry,” murmured Tom.
“There is every hurry,” I repeated; “we—we love each other.”
“Rosamund!” interrupted my cousin.