“He looks older,” said the girl, with her spoon poised over her mush. She had fallen into a reverie and was gazing fixedly out the window. After a time she roused herself and said: “He had a faint turn on the bridge.”
“He—faint?” said Mrs. Danvers, incredulously.
“Yes,” said Nina, with a queer look, and dropping her eyes. “He has been working hard and not eating much, and the sun shone on his head and made him dizzy. I thought, mamma, you might give him some medicine.”
“I’ll give him some if he’ll take it,” said Mrs. Danvers, grimly, “but he’s not one to be coddled. What is he coming in the daytime for? Does he want anything particular?”
Nina turned quickly and gave her an owlish stare,—a stare so sudden that Mrs. Danvers had not time to avert her own gray eyes shining with so glad a light.
“Would you let him marry me right away, mamma, if he wanted to?”
“Well,” hesitated Mrs. Danvers, “your case isn’t like others. Of course your engagement has been standing a good while.”
“Does he want to marry you right off?” asked Mr. Danvers, sharply.
“Yes, dear daddy,” said the girl, softly, “but you won’t let me go, will you?”
Mr. Danvers tried to speak, but only uttered a low, confused rumble like that of a helpless animal. He could do nothing, and the girl turned to her adopted mother. Her curiously expectant glance was not met. Mrs. Danvers’s head was bent over her plate. There was no protest there. The marriage must take place.