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Isn’t it curious to think that if he’d worn braces in early youth my ear would be all right now. Behold me at your feet. Respectfully yours, Herbert Kendrick Mitchell. When Mrs. Rosscott had finished the letter she looked across at her caller, and said: "You’ve read this, haven’t you?" "No," said he. "I tried to unstick it two or three times coming on the train, but it was too much for me."
You owe me something, too, and if I forbear you should understand why." "I owe you something, do I?" he asked. "What do I owe you?" Mrs. Rosscott caught her under lip in her teeth. "You gave me a promise, Mr. Denham," she said, quite low, but most distinctly—"a promise which you broke." Jack flushed; his eyelids drooped for a minute. "I didn’t break it," he said. "I gave it up."
"I always think of them both as together." "Oh, in that case, I can reassure you instantly," said the caller. "Burnett is doing finely." Mrs. Rosscott was conscious of being suddenly and skillfully countercharged. She blushed with vexation, bit her lip in perturbation, and cast upon the trying individual opposite a look of most appealing interrogation.
Jack was fairly wild with joy at the brilliant way in which he had begun. Mrs. Rosscott had laid one scheme for the overthrow of Aunt Mary and her plan of attack had been absolutely successful. Now it was his turn and he, too, was in it to win undying glory or else—well, no matter. There wouldn’t be any "also ran" in this contest.
"Hush," said his love authoritatively, "it’s my confession. Leave it to me." "What is it?" said Aunt Mary, looking anxiously from one to the other; "you haven’t broke your engagement already, I hope." "No," said Mrs. Rosscott, "it’s nothing like that. It’s only rather a surprise. But it’s a nice surprise,—at least, I hope you’ll think that it is."
"Sure," said Jack, suddenly become his blithe and buoyant self again. "You just take off your hat and look the other way, Mrs. Rosscott, and we’ll have you a lunch in a jiffy." In Aunt Mary’s part of the country the skies had been crying themselves sick for the last six weeks.
Rosscott clapped her hands with delight when she finished the letter. She was overjoyed at the success of her "opening play," and she wrote her new correspondent two lines accepting his invitation, and went down on the appointed train on the appointed day. He met her at the depot and they divined one another at the first glance. It was impossible not to know so pretty a woman—or so homely a man.
Rosscott sympathetically, "so did I." They all laughed together. "An’ now," said Aunt Mary, laying back and folding her arms upon her bosom, "an’ now comes the main question,—when do you two want to be married?" "Oh!" said the widow starting, "we—I—Jack—" "Well, go on," said Aunt Mary. "Say whenever you like. An’ then Jack can do the same." The two young people exchanged glances.
"We shall have to be married very soon, now, you know," he said gayly. "Aunt Mary won’t be able to wait." "Oh, as to that—we’ll see," said Mrs. Rosscott, and laughed afresh. "But there is one thing that must be done at once." "What’s that?" Jack asked. "We must tell Aunt Mary who I am." "Oh, to be sure," said the young man.
You’d know what a hurry he must have been in to look at my mamma-in-law’s portrait." "Was she so very beautiful?" "No; she was so very homely. Maude’s very like her." Jack laughed. She laughed, too. "Aren’t we happy together?" she asked. "My sky knows but one cloud," he rejoined, "and that is that Monday comes after Sunday." "But we shall meet again," said Mrs. Rosscott.
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