“Oh, 'Raish, that gorgeous thing! I must kiss you, if Daniel does see me!”
“Oh, that's all right,” said Armorer, hastily, and began to talk of the pig. Suddenly, without looking up, he dropped into the pig-pen the remark: “I'm very much obliged to you for writing me, Meg.”
“I don't know whether to feel more like a virtuous sister or a villanous aunt,” sighed Mrs. Ellis; “things seemed to be getting on so rapidly that it didn't seem right, Esther visiting me and all, not to give you a hint; still, I am sure that nothing has been said, and it is horrid for Esther, perfectly HORRID, discussing her proposals that haven't been proposed!”
“I don't want them ever to be proposed,” said Armorer, gloomily.
“I know you always said you didn't want Esther to marry; but I thought if she fell in love with the right man—we know that marriage is a very happy estate, sometimes, Horatio!” She sighed again. In her case it was only the memory of happiness, for Colonel Ellis had been dead these twelve years; but his widow mourned him still.
“If you marry the right one, maybe,” answered Armorer, grudgingly; “but see here, Meg, Esther is different from the other girls; they got married when Jenny was alive to look after them, and I knew the men, and they were both big matches, you know. Then, too, I was so busy making money while the other girls grew up that I hadn't time to get real well acquainted with them. I don't think they ever kissed me, except when I gave them a check. But Esther and I——” he drummed with his fingers on the boards, his thin, keen face wearing a look that would have amazed his business acquaintances—“you remember when her mother died, Meg? Only fifteen, and how she took hold of things! And we have been together ever since, and she makes me think of her grandmother and her mother both. She's never had a wish I knew that I haven't granted—why, d—— it! I've bought my clothes to please her——”
“That's why you are become so well-dressed, Horatio; I wondered how you came to spruce up so!” interrupted Mrs. Ellis.
“It has been so blamed lonesome whenever she went to visit you, but yet I wouldn't say a word because I knew what a good time she had; but if I had known that there was a confounded, long-legged, sniffy young idiot all that while trying to steal my daughter away from me!” In an access of wrath at the idea Armorer wrenched off the picket that he clutched, at which he laughed and stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Why, Meg, the papers and magazines are always howling that women won't marry,” cried he, with a fresh sense of grievance; “now, two of my girls have married, that's enough; there was no reason for me to expect any more of them would! There isn't one d—— bit of need for Esther to marry!”
“But if she loves the young fellow and he loves her, won't you let them be happy?”