“Katinka,” said I portentously, “you leave where you are to be married to me.”
“Oh, ma’am!” said Katinka.
I never had more earnest appreciation.
Cousin Diantha Bethune was heard calling her at that moment, and Katinka went off with the coals quite as if the next day were not to see her a bride, married in the parlour.
For I was determined that the wedding should be in the parlour, and I spent a most feverish day. I made repeated visits to the kitchen and held consultations with the little maid, whose cheeks grew rosy and whose eyes grew bright at the heaven of having some one in the world interested in her.
While she washed the dishes she told me that she and Andy had saved enough to live for three months at Mis’ Slocum’s boarding house. After that the future was a pleasant but indefeasible mystery. While she cleaned the knives I slipped down to find whether Andy had remembered to engage the parson; and he had done so, but at the risk of having the ceremony performed in the scullery as the only available apartment. Andy, it appeared, objected to being married at the parson’s house; and Katinka seemed to think that this also was because his father had been “in dry goods.” At our last conference, during lamp cleaning, I advised Katinka to break the news to Cousin Diantha Bethune immediately after supper when we were still at table. Katinka promised and her mouth quivered at the thought.
“She’ll never hev us in the parlour, not in this world, ma’am,” she said to me hopelessly, “not with that new three-ply ingrain on the floor.”
Meanwhile I had told Pelleas who, though he is sometimes disposed to pretend to scoff at romance which he does not himself discover, was yet adequately sympathetic. At supper we were both absurdly excited, and Pelleas heaped little attentions on Andy who ate nothing and kept brushing imaginary flies from before his face to show how much at ease he was. And after the last plate of hot bread had been brought in I wonder now at my own self-possession; for I knew thereafter that little Katinka, by the crack in the pantry door, was waiting the self-imposed signal of Cousin Diantha’s folded napkin. When this came she popped into the room like a kind of toy and stood directly back of Cousin Diantha’s chair.
“Please, ma’am,” she said, “Andy an’ me’s goin’ to get marrit.”
Andy, one blush, rose and shambled spryly to her side and caught at her hand and stood with glazing eyes.