“Yes,” replied our heroine, humbly, “I was going to tell you—to-morrow.”
“I suppose,” said Mrs. Holt, after a silence, “it is to the young man who was here this afternoon, and whom I did not see. It accounts for his precipitate departure. But I must say, Honora, since frankness is one of my faults, that I feel it my duty to write to your aunt and disclaim all responsibility.”
“It is not to Mr. Erwin,” said Honora, meekly; “it is—it is to Mr. Spence.”
Mrs. Holt seemed to find difficulty in speaking, Her former symptoms, which Honora had come to recognize as indicative of agitation, returned with alarming intensity. And when at length her voice made itself heard, it was scarcely recognizable.
“You are engaged—to—Howard Spence?”
“Oh, Mrs. Holt,” exclaimed Honora, “it was as great a surprise to me—believe me—as it is to you.”
But even the knowledge that they shared a common amazement did not appear, at once, to assuage Mrs. Holt's emotions.
“Do you love him?” she demanded abruptly.
Whereupon Honora burst into tears.
“Oh, Mrs. Holt,” she sobbed, “how can you ask?”