“Oh, no! Why, you just got them yourself.”
“He doesn’t mind, do you?” Lola demanded of John, and he answered so pleasantly and cordially that the child was persuaded to accept them, and was taken home by her mother in such a glow of gratitude that for the moment, at least, her pain was forgotten.
American Beauty roses, at a dollar each, on the window-sill of a wretched tenement! An extravagance, no doubt, and yet I wonder if they would have better fulfilled their destiny had they met the usual fate of their fellows and been trampled under foot upon the floor of some crowded ball room.
As Lola closed the door after Nellie and Mrs. Mooney, she turned to see John and her father eyeing one another, with the consciousness of the necessary interview showing in their faces. She laughed happily and, crossing to the Doctor, pointed to John, who stood rather stiffly beside the table.
“There is John, father.”
“Humph,” said he, coldly, determined at least that the young man’s path should not be made too easy, “so I see.”
“I—I,” began John, rather lamely, “I—er——”
Lola laughed merrily, and catching one by each hand drew them together, looking up at them, her face so radiant that in a moment their stiffness was forgotten, and they joined in her laugh.
“No use trying to be formal, John, while she is laughing at us.”
“No, sir,” replied John heartily, as he accepted the other’s proffered hand; “all that I am going to say is that I shall do my best to make her happy.”