A splendid scarlet flamed on the face of Harrington, and with a start he clasped her to his breast, gazing into her face with eyes like wondering stars. Mrs. Eastman, ineffably astonished, but more ineffably amused, that Muriel had taken her at her word, sank into a chair, with her countenance flushed, and burst into low laughter; while Emily, with the rich color suffusing her features and her eyes and mouth orbed in wonder, pressed her folded hands to her bosom; and Wentworth stared vacantly, with his face as red as fire.
“This the morning of our marriage!” exclaimed Harrington. “This!”
“This it is, John,” she replied, gaily, “and this is my third agreeable surprise. How do you like it?”
Harrington, with a sudden motion, bent his head and kissed her.
“Muriel, Muriel!” he laughingly cried, “you are indeed a fairy princess! You touch the moment, and it bursts into the unexpected miracle-flower of joy.”
“Now by all the gods at once!” exclaimed the volatile Wentworth, and bounding up with three distinct pigeon-wings into the air, he came down again erect and gallant, and burst into a peal of mellow laughter.
“Well I declare!” ejaculated Emily. “Of all the splendid freaks I ever heard of, this is the most splendid. To be married this morning! But who’s to marry you? where’s the minister?”
“Oh, he’s coming,” returned Muriel, smiling. “I wrote a note to Mr. Parker this morning, and he is to be here at ten.”
“Good!” exclaimed Harrington. “If I am to have any minister to marry me, let it be Mr. Parker. It will be an added consecration.”
“I knew you would think so,” replied Muriel.