“Oh, well, dear,” he said, “it is all right. I know perfectly well you would do nothing in which you were not justified, and you have spoken to me, anyway, and that is the main thing. I think if I had been obliged to start to-morrow without a word from you I shouldn't have cared a hang whether I ever came back or not. You are the only soul to hold me here; you know that, darling.”
“Yes,” replied Annie.
“You are the only one,” repeated Tom, “but it seems to me this minute as if you were a whole host, you dear little soul. But I don't quite like to leave you here living alone, except for Effie.”
“Oh, I am within a stone's-throw of father's,” said Annie, lightly.
“I admit that. Still, you are alone. Annie, when are you going to marry me?”
Annie regarded him with a clear, innocent look. She had lived such a busy life that her mind was unfilmed by dreams. “Whenever you like, after you come home,” said she.
“It can't be too soon for me. I want my wife and I want my home. What will you do while I am gone, dear?”
Annie laughed. “Oh, I shall do what I have seen other girls do—get ready to be married.”
“That means sewing, lots of hemming and tucking and stitching, doesn't it?”
“Of course.”