"Of course you must be having your own way, Miss Queenie dear," returned the old man as he lighted his pipe; "but, all the same, I don't believe that Hepshaw air agrees with you both. There, why the precious lamb has a cough, didn't you tell Molly so just now? and you are ever so much thinner yourself, my pretty; and when is it all going to end, this play-acting, the school-mistressing, I mean, and you and the blessed lamb settle down comfortably, like sensible-minded Christians, in a nice handsome home of your own, eh, Miss Queenie?"
"Why, I don't know, Caleb," stammered the girl, rather startled at this very direct question, "I don't know at all; I have not made up my mind. Not before the end of the summer; no, certainly not before then."
Caleb laid down his pipe, with a dissatisfied look.
"I thought better of your common-sense, I did, indeed, Miss Queenie."
"Now, Caleb, if you are going to be cross I shall tell Molly to pack up my bag, and I shall just take the next train home. What is the good of being an heiress if one is never to have one's own way?"
"You have had it for a pretty long spell, I'm thinking," returned the old man with unusual pettishness, but the girl's whim fretted him sorely. "Mark my words, Miss Queenie, you will play at this thing a bit too long."
"I shouldn't wonder if you were right," a touch of gravity replacing her fun; "and I think myself that it would be as well to fix a limit, for fear I should be tempted to put off the evil hour."
"Eh, eh! now you are going to be sensible."
"I must have six clear months. Let me see, I will say the first of August. There, Caleb, on the first of August I will enter into possession of my riches. Will that content you?"
"Why not say May or June, Miss Queenie?"