"Now, Nancy, come on, and 'fess up," was the bomb which Alma hurled without a word of warning. "I know perfectly well that you've got something on your conscience, and I've got a suspicion already that it's Mr. Arnold."
If she was desirous of creating a sensation, she should have been amply satisfied with the result of her remarks. Mrs. Prescott, as if she had been suddenly aroused from sleep, opened her pretty mouth and stared at her elder daughter for a moment and then exclaimed:
"I must have been dreaming!" Nancy squirmed. She looked reproachfully at Alma, then at her mother, and at length said simply:
"He—he asked me to marry him." And then she followed with the whole story. She told them of her visit to her uncle, where she had seen Mr. Arnold for the second time, and then went on to give a full account of her memorable trip to the pawnbrokers' with the ring.
"I—I would have told you everything long ago, but I didn't want you to think that Uncle Thomas was 'relenting' because he asked me to visit him—and about the other time——" Alma stopped her by leaning over and kissing her.
"You were paying for my experience," Alma said bravely. "I learned—I don't know what exactly, except that people like Mildred, whom I always thought as being important to know, weren't worth one teeny little ounce of trouble. I learned to be honest with myself, and that it's a whole lot better to work with your two hands than to be a toady, for the sake of making things easier,—and lots else. And I'm going to work hard, Nancy——"
"Stuff and nonsense!" declared an angry voice from the doorway. From a gargantuan bouquet of hyacinths, lilacs, and daffodils, issued the voice of the "Ogre." Evidently, finding the front door open, and the lower floor deserted, and hearing the sound of voices from above, the old gentleman had borne his offering aloft, without a word of announcement. Snorting with some inward indignation, he testily tossed his head to get rid of an impudent lilac which was tickling his nose, and glared over the bouquet.
"This idea of working is pure foolishness. I never heard of such women's nonsense before in my life. Here, where in the name of common sense can I put these flowers, and why wasn't I informed of my niece's illness?" When Nancy, stifling her unseemly laughter, had relieved him of his offering, he grew calmer.
"Why wasn't I told that you were ill, my dear?" he asked, sitting down and taking Alma's hand in his.
"We—we hardly thought of anything until she began to be better," answered Mrs. Prescott. He looked at her sternly a moment, and then his whole face softened, almost to a look of humility and shame-facedness.