Charley Bonair looked sober for a moment, then laughed again.
“Ah! now I am up against the real thing!” he exclaimed. “It is quite true, Berry, darling, that they may object a little at first, but when they see how sweet and charming you are, dad and my pretty sisters will surely come around and love you almost as well as I do. Of course they would make no end of a bother if I asked their leave first, but I don’t mean to do it, you see! We’ll get married first, my angel, and announce it afterward. I can take the Clines into the secret, and we could be married here to-morrow, in this room, if you will consent, Berry.”
“Oh, I am afraid, afraid!” she moaned nervously.
“Listen to me, Berry. Are you afraid that dad will cut us off with a shilling if I marry you? Do you object to being a poor man’s bride?” her lover demanded, rather sternly, in his impatience.
“Oh, no, no! Mr. Bonair—I——”
“Call me, Charley,” he interrupted imploringly.
“Charley, then! I’ve always been poor, you know, and I shouldn’t mind it all with you, dear, if—if—you are sure you will never repent and be sorry I married you.”
“You will marry me, then, darling?” He bent and took the kiss he was longing for. “Bless you, dear, your Charley will never repent he won such a prize! It may be you that will be sorry, for I have got a hard name, you know, and need reforming,” he said truthfully.
“I will love you so, my Charley, it will make a better man of you!” she cried tenderly, giving way to the rapture of her happy love at last. Then, as a light tap sounded on the door: “Oh, dear, we were quite forgetting poor Mrs. Cline, dearest. Do let her in, and explain everything, or she will think this interview very improper.”