Pelleas and I are not perfectly agreed on what did happen next. For we had planned no farther than the church door, trusting to everything to come right the moment that those two little people saw each other in the place of their dream. The first thing that I recall is that I fairly pushed Cornelia Emmeline into the arms of the young soda-fountain king, and cried out almost savagely:—
“Be married—be married at once! And thank the Lord that you love each other!”
“But She—what’ll She—” quavered Cornelia Emmeline on a coat-lapel.
Then young Evan rose magnificently to the occasion. He took her little white face in his hands, kissed her very tenderly, and decided for her.
“Now, then, Sweetheart,” said he, “so we will! And no more trouble about it!”
Little Nursemaid gave him one quick look—shy, beseeching, delicious—and glanced down.
“I’ve got on my plum-colour’,” she consented.
Whereat Pelleas and I, who had been standing by, smiling and nodding like mandarins, turned ecstatically and shook hands with each other.
Evan, in the midst of all his bliss, looked at his watch. It was plain to be seen that Cornelia Emmeline had not put her trust in a worthless fellow.
“Six-twenty,” said he; “I’ll run across and get the minister. O,” he turned to us helplessly, “what if he can’t come—now?”