Early as it was, he rushed out of his office, jumped into a cab, and sped away to the address she gave him.
We may pass over the raptures, the embraces, the renewed vows, the general delicious character of that long-deferred meeting. We may suppose the explanation of the lost letter accounting for the girl’s silence; and we may picture her sympathy with her lover’s misfortunes, and her approval of the manly way in which he had gone to work to retrieve them, in some degree. Let us imagine them very very happy, sitting hand in hand in a room at No. 4 Caxton Place; Millicent, by-the-by, looking more beautiful than ever, her charms not lessened by the look of joy in her dark eyes.
Their first transports are over. They have descended to mundane things. In fact, Frank is now telling her that he believes he can count on so many hundreds a year. What does his darling think?
Miss Keene purses up her pretty mouth and knits her brows. To judge by appearances, she might be the most mercenary young woman. Frank waits her reply anxiously.
‘I think we may manage,’ she says. ‘I have been accustomed to poverty all my life, you know.’
Frank would have vowed to work his fingers to the bones before she should want anything; but remembering just in time that his profession worked with the tongue instead of the hands, checked himself. He thanked her with a kiss.
‘When shall we be married?’ he said.
She looked up at him shyly. ‘Would you think it very dreadful if I said the sooner the better? In fact, Frank, I have come from Australia to marry you. If you had forgotten me, I should have gone straight back.’
‘Next week?’ asked Frank, scarcely believing his own happiness. ‘Will next week be too soon? One advantage of being poor and living in lodgings is, that we can be married without any bother “about a house.”’
Millicent gave him to understand that next week would do. She was staying with some distant relative. No one’s consent had to be asked. She had told her father all. The day Frank chose, she would be his wife.