“Denzil, how late you are!” she cried, with a roguish pout. “They have all finished breakfast long ago. But I waited for you, sir, and am nearly famished. You do not deserve—”
She got no further, for by this time I was at her side, and had stopped her pretty lips with a kiss—nay, a shower of them.
“Darling, I have news for you,” I said, a moment later.
“Well, what is it?” she asked, blushing as she spoke.
“I had a long talk with Mr. Macdonald last night,” I replied. “A better fellow never lived. I told him all, and—and he is anxious to have a wedding at Fort Garry.”
“Is he?”
“Yes, that’s what he said. It will sort of cheer up things, you know, and—”
“But he has one wife already.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said I. “Listen: he is going to send a man off to-day for the priest, who is visiting a little settlement fifty miles to the south. In a week, if you are willing, we can be married.”
“In a week!” she cried, with mock consternation.