“O mamma!”
“But are you sure—”
“Yes, Yes. I'm not crazy; it isn't a dream he was there—and I met him—I couldn't run away—I put out my hand; I couldn't help it—I thought I should give way; and he took it; and then—then we were engaged. I don't know what we said: I went in to look at the 'Joan of Arc' again, and there was no one else there. He seemed to feel just as I did. I don't know whether either of us spoke. But we, knew we were engaged, and we began to talk.”
Mrs. Pasmer began to laugh. To her irreverent soul only the droll side of the statement appeared.
“Don't, mamma!” pleaded Alice piteously.
“No, no; I won't. But I hope Dan Mavering will be a little more definite about it when I'm allowed to see him. Why couldn't he have come in with you?”
“It would have killed me. I couldn't let him see me cry, and I knew I should break down.”
“He'll have to see you cry a great many times, Alice,” said her mother, with almost unexampled seriousness.
“Yes, but not yet—not so soon. He must think I'm very gloomy, and I want to be always bright and cheerful with him. He knows why I wouldn't let him come in; he knew I was going to have a cry.”
Mrs. Pasmer continued to laugh.