lling on her
knees, Hermione clasped her arms about Mrs. Trapes and hid her glowing
face in her lap. "Ann, dear, I'm so happy!" she sighed--her speech a
little muffled by reason of the voluminous folds of Mrs. Trapes's snowy
apron.

"Happy?" said Mrs. Trapes, setting down her teacup to fondle and stroke
that shapely head, "sich happiness ain't all because of the rent bein'
re-dooced, by order, I reckon--is it?"

"Dear Ann," said Hermione, her face still hidden, "can't you guess?"

"No, my dear," answered Mrs. Trapes, her harsh tones wonderfully soft,
"I don't have to--I guessed days ago. D' ye love him, Hermy?"

"Love him!" repeated Hermione, and said no more, nor did she lift her
bowed head, but feeling the quick, strong pressure of those soft,
embracing arms, the quiver of that girlish body, Mrs. Trapes smiled,
and stooping, kissed Hermione's shining hair.

"When did he speak, my dear?"

"Last Monday, Ann."

"Did he say--much?"

"He asked me to--marry him."

"Spoke of marriage, eh? Did he happen t' mention th' word--wife?"

"Oh, many times, Ann."

"Good f'r him! An' when's it t' be?"

"Oh, Ann, dear, I--I'm afraid it's--to-night!"

"T'night? My land, he's sure some hasty!"

"And so--so masterful, Ann!"

"Well, y' sure need a master. But t'night--land sakes!"

"He wrote and told me he would fix things so he could marry me to-night,
Ann!"

"Then he's sure out fixin' 'em right now. Lord, Hermy, why d' ye
tremble, girl--y' sure love him, don't ye?"

"So much, Ann, so very much--and yet--"

"You ain't scared of him, are ye?"

"No--and yet, I--I think I am--a little."

"But you'll marry him, all the same?"

"Yes."

"An' t'night?"

"Yes. But Ann, dear, when he comes in I want you to keep him with you as
long as you can--will you?"

"Why, sure I'll keep him, jest as long as--he'll let me! Lord, t' think
as my little Hermy'll be a married woman this night!"

"And--oh, Ann, I haven't any--trousseau--"

"Shucks! You don't need none. You're best as you are. You won't need no
fluffs an' frills, I reckon."

"But, Ann dear," said Hermione, lifting her head and shaking it
ruefully, "I have--nothing! And my best dress--I made it in such a
hurry, you remember--it needs pressing and--"

"He ain't marryin' you fer your clo'es, Hermy--no, sir! It's you he
wants an'--oh, shucks! What do clo'es matter t' you, anyway? You was
meant to be one o' them nymphs an' goddesses as went about clad--well,
airy.