"Why, if I really needn't go to the theatre any more, we won't telegraph. I should so love to tell her. She liked you, you know—she liked you so much. I'll go home to-morrow and tell her."
"Good! good! But what about Hannah; will she let you in?"
"I think she will, when she knows that I am not going to be an actress—and about this."
"She might think you are doing worse."
"No, she won't."
"Well, that's settled; now we'll send the cable. Let's write it out here, then we need only copy it out in the office. Where is your paper?" he asked, impulsively, going to the writing-table. "Now then. 'Carringford to Vincent. May I marry Margaret?—Tom.' Will that do?" he asked.
"Splendidly," she laughed.
"I think you ought to send one on your own account."
"Yes, yes," she cried, joyfully; so a second cable was written. "'Vincent to Vincent. Please say yes.—Margaret.' Will that do?" she echoed.