"Oh, auntie, my heart is bursting with happiness!"
"Heather, child, I'm a woman of few words, but if your mother were alive she'd be proud of this day. He has the very soul of honesty in his face; he is better looking than your poor dear father ever was, but he has the same sort of nature, so boyish, so impulsive, so brave. He's a dear—that's all that I can say about him."
"And if you weren't a dear for your own sake, you'd be one for calling him one," was my somewhat incoherent answer.
"Well, now, that's enough sentiment, child; we must to business. How do you like my dress?"
"It's magnificent—and you have put it on in honour of me."
"In honour of a captain in His Majesty's army. Child, I do so greatly respect army men."
"Oh, yes, I see. Thank you, so do I. Indeed, it's a very handsome dress," I continued.
"I think so," she replied. "It was made fifteen years ago, at least. I only wear it on the very best occasions, otherwise it would have got greasy ages and ages before now. It's amazing how difficult it is to keep these really good silks from turning greasy; the grease seems to cling to them in some sort of fashion, and you can never get it out, try as you will."
"It looks awfully nice—it really does, auntie."
"I am proud to be wearing it for your sake and for his to-night."