In the silence which followed this unexpected and undeserved tribute to Mr. Raggett’s worth, the two old men eyed each other in silent consternation.
“Still, if you’ve made up your mind,” continued the girl, “I don’t know that it’s for me to object. You’re not much to look at, but you’ve got the loveliest chest of drawers and the best furniture all round in Mastleigh. And I suppose you’ve got a little money?”
Mr. Raggett shook his head, and in a broken voice was understood to say: “A very little.”
“I don’t want any fuss or anything of that kind,” said Miss Boom calmly. “No bridesmaids or anything of that sort; it wouldn’t be suitable at your age.”
Mr. Raggett withdrew his pipe and holding it an inch or two from his mouth, listened like one in a dream.
“Just a few old friends, and a bit of cake,” continued Miss Boom musingly. “And instead of spending a lot of money in foolish waste, we’ll have three weeks in London.”
Mr. Raggett made a gurgling noise in his throat, and suddenly, remembering himself, pretended to think that it was something wrong with his pipe, and removing it blew noisily through the mouthpiece.
“Perhaps,” he said, in a trembling voice—“perhaps you’d better take a little longer to consider, my dear.”
Kate shook her head. “I’ve quite made up my mind,” she said, “quite. And now I want to marry you just as much as you want to marry me. Good-night, father; good-night—George.”
Mr. Raggett started violently, and collapsed in his chair.