“Would you———?” he began.
“Well?”
“Will you be home to-night—about eight?”
“I think so. Why, anything special?”
“N—no. You'll be there sure?”
“Sure.”
Promptly at eight the doorbell rang and Halloran was called down to the parlour. Entering, he found Crosman, grinning feverishly; and over in the corner, with her back turned, looking at a picture, was Mamie. He looked from one to the other until Mamie turned around and disclosed a very red face. Still no one spoke. The two now gazed appealingly at each other, and finally it was Mamie who broke the silence with a preliminary giggle.
“I guess—I guess you can congratulate us, Mr. Halloran.”
Coming so suddenly, even this bold statement did not sink at once into Halloran's consciousness. But at last, after a painful pause, he recollected himself and shook hands cordially. And then the story had to be told in detail. It was all a secret, for Mrs. Higginson had not yet learned to understand Harry as she would when she came to know him as one of the family. During the worst of her father's illness Mamie would not consent, but now that the crisis was turned she had—“Well, she had supposed she might as well.”
“We wanted you to know it,” she said. “And it's going to be a secret between just you and us. We thought maybe—you—maybe you'd be glad, too.”