"Thanksgiving, indeed! Yes, every day is Thanksgiving for us. But it's not especially _that_." "Christmas." "Nonsense! To-morrow is the second anniversary of our engagement." "My Lord, Gertrude, have we been engaged two years? Why, at that rate I can't possibly marry you till I'm forty-four." "It isn't two years, it's two months. And to-night they have their memorial services for poor Paddy McGraw. And, do you know, your friend Mr. Foley has our engine now? Yes; he came up the other day to ask about you, but in reality to tell me he had been promoted. I think he ought to have been, after I spoke myself to Mr. Archibald about it. But what touched me was, the poor fellow asked if I wouldn't see about getting some flowers for the memorial at the engineer's lodge to-night--and he didn't want his wife to know anything about it, because she would scold him for spending his money--see what you are coming to! So I suggested he should let me provide his flowers and ours together, and when I tried to find out what he wanted, he asked if a throttle made of flowers would be all right." "Your heart would not let you say no?" "I told him it would be lovely, and to leave it all to me." She brought forward the box she was opening. "See how they have laid this throttle-bar of violets across these Galax leaves--and latched it with a rose. Here, Solomon," she exiled the boy from an adjoining room, "take this very carefully. No. There isn't any card. Oh," she exclaimed, as he left, and she clasped her lifted hands, "I am glad, I am glad we are leaving these mountains. Do you know papa is to be here to-morrow? And that your speech must be ready? He isn't going to give his consent without being asked." "I suppose not," said Glover, dejectedly. "What are you going to say?" "I shall say that I consider him worthy of my confidence and esteem." "I think you would make more headway, dearest, if you should tell him you considered yourself worthy of _his_ confidence and esteem." "But, hang it, I don't." "Well, couldn't you, for once, fib a little? Oh, Ab; I'll tell you what I wish you _could_ do." "Pray what?" "Talk a little business to him. I feel sure, if you could only talk business awhile, papa would be _all_ right." "Business! If it's only a question of talking business, the thing's as good as done. I can't talk anything but business." "Can't you, indeed! I like that. Pray what did you talk to me on the platform of my father's own car?" "Business." "You talked the silliest stuff I ever listened to----" "Not reflecting on anyone present, of course." "And, Ab----" "Yes." "If you could take him aback somehow--nothing would give him such an idea of you. I think that was what--well, I was so _completely_ overcome by your audacity----"