"Oh, Martha!" Emily murmured.
The two were babbling.
"What she's wanted all the time, and she's pretending to scold us. Look at her, Johnnie." Martha was laughing at her mother's consternation. "We wanted to surprise you. How did you know? I suppose we do look married, maybe."
"I'm glad," said Emily.
"You're not; you're crying! Didn't we surprise you? Did you get my letter? Rather smooth of me, wasn't it—'Johnnie's turned up and I'm leaving the city!' We'd only been married an hour when I wrote that, mammie!"
She shone, she twinkled, like not one star—but the whole canopy of heaven. She adored her husband with her married eyes. She stood the loveliest blossom of the season. Johnnie was explaining. Emily sat breathless looking from one to the other of them. "They're utterly married," she thought. "Martha isn't pretending. She isn't putting something across now." She couldn't believe it. But the bridal garments would have convinced her. Martha's very stockings were shining bridally. She had taken off her rosy hat; her frock matched her coat; she was powdering her nose before the hall glass; she was cavorting about, and shining. She called upon her mother to admire poor Johnnie.
"Isn't he a dear?" she chuckled. "Don't you think he's a lamb, mammie?"
"Cut that out, kiddo!" he cried, enjoying it.
"You bring the stuff in, my son. Mammie, we're going to open up the room. But Johnnie can have the little guest room—just for his things, can't he? I told you so, Johnnie. He's got to go down and break the news softly to dad. You go on, Johnnie; I want to talk to mammie. But don't you stay more than half an hour, I tell you. We're going to turn out that room, mammie. I knew it wouldn't be ready. I'll get out of my glad rags right away. Johnnie can help me. He's good at housework."
The door had finally scarcely closed behind the bridegroom when Emily cried; "Are you happy, Martie? Why did you do this?"