“He really seems very nice,” murmured Miss Carry. “He gives her some new jewel almost every day.”
Miss Rebecca sniffed disdainfully, as though to inquire if love was to be attested by eighteen-carat gold rather than by summer blooms.
The sound of steps on the gravel path interrupted their confabulation.
“It is Mr. Anderson, père” said Miss Carry laconically.
“He is coming to take possession,” responded her sister.
The crunch of the gravel under his solid, firm tread jarred on their already wearied sensibilities. Nevertheless they knew that it behooved them to be cordial and to accept the situation with good grace. Their niece was over head and ears in love with a young man whose personal character, so far as they knew, was not open to reproach, and who would be heir to millions. What more was to be said? Indeed, Miss Rebecca was the first to broach the subject after the greetings were over.
“Our young people seem to have made up their minds that they cannot live apart,” she said.
“So my son has informed me.”
Mr. Anderson spoke gravely and then paused. His habitually confident manner betrayed signs of nervousness.
“I told him this morning that there could be no engagement until after I had talked with you,” he added.