“All well at home?” she asked.
“Grandma and I have been alone for nearly a week; David went off on business; but he’s back now and—oh, my goodness! I forgot: I’m not to tell a soul yet;” and Kitty pursed up her lips, looking quite oppressed with some great secret.
“Bless me, how mysterious! Well, I won’t ask any dangerous questions, only tell me if the dear old lady is well,” said Christie, desperately curious, but too proud to show it.
“She’s well, but dreadfully upset by what’s happened; well she may be.” And Kitty shook her head with a look of mingled mystery and malicious merriment.
“Mr. Sterling is all right I hope?” Christie never called him David to Kitty; so that impertinent little person took especial pains to speak familiarly, sometimes even fondly of him to Christie.
“Dear fellow! he’s so happy he don’t know what to do with himself. I just wish you could see him go round smiling, and singing, and looking as if he’d like to dance.”
“That looks as if he was going to get a chance to do it,” said Christie, with a glance at the gloves, as Kitty turned from the counter.
“So he is!” laughed Kitty, patting the little parcel with a joyful face.
“I do believe you are going to be married:” exclaimed Christie, half distracted with curiosity.
“I am, but not to Miles. Now don’t you say another word, for I’m dying to tell, and I promised I wouldn’t. David wants to do it himself. By-by.” And Kitty hurried away, leaving Christie as pale as if she had seen a ghost at noonday.