"Oh, of course, uncle," said the young girl, with brightening eyes, "but I like that sort of selfishness."
"It is all one, Gertrude; I am sending Hannah into retirement now out of selfishness; she is getting so stout that she can't get through the door any more with the coffee tray. And I ask you if I am to keep another servant to open the double doors for her, just for the sake of the old asthmatic woman? That would be fine! So I said to her this morning, 'Hannah, you can go at Easter, and I will continue your wages as a pension.' She was delighted, because she can go to her daughter, now."
"Uncle, I know you very well. I can trust to you," coaxed Gertrude. "You will speak to Frank, won't you?"
"Oh, well, yes, yes, only don't blush so. Now you see you have spoiled my dessert with all your talking. When does her serene highness come home?"
"I don't know," replied the young girl.
"To be sure, these coffee-parties are never to be counted upon. So you two lovers only see each other on state occasions, like Romeo and Juliet, or when you have company yourselves?"
Gertrude nodded silently.
"Is it possible!" cried the little gentleman as he rose to go--"as if the time of an engagement were not the happiest in the world. Afterwards it is all pure prose, my child. And they are spoiling this time for you now--well, you just wait. I must go now to my card-party. I will look in on your mother this evening. Good bye; my love to him when you write."
"Good-bye, uncle. Don't forget that I shall trust to your selfishness."
When the old gentleman had closed the door behind him, she sat down to her desk, look out a letter and began to read it. It was his last letter; it had come this morning and it contained some verses.