"'With regard to washing-dresses,'" read Nan, in her clear tones, "'cottons, as a general thing, have another material made up with them; the under-skirt may be of foulard or satin----?'"

"Oh, I dare say! What nonsensical extravagance!" observed Phillis.

"'Or the bodice of surah, satin, cashmere, or llama, and the skirt of cotton.... The skirts are nearly always made with single box-pleats, with a flat surface in the centre, and a flat band of tr.i.m.m.i.n.g is often st.i.tched on at about five inches from the edge of the flounce.'

I should say that would be sweetly pretty, dear: we might try it for Mrs. Penlip's dress. And just listen to a little more."

"I shall do nothing of the kind," blurted out d.i.c.k. "Oh, Nan, Nan! how could you be such a traitor?--washing-dresses indeed, and me left in ignorance!" And there was d.i.c.k, his face glowing and indignant, standing in the window, with Laddie barking furiously at him, and his outstretched hand nearly touching Nan.

Phillis and Dulce screamed with surprise, being young and easily excited; but Nan only said, "Oh, d.i.c.k!" very faintly; and her sweet face grew red and pale by turns, and her fingers fluttered a little in his grasp, but only for joy and the sheer delight of seeing him.

As for d.i.c.k, his eyes shone, but his manner was masterful.

"Look here!" he said, drawing Nan's advertis.e.m.e.nt from his pocket; "we had come down here to surprise you girls, and to have a little fun and tennis; and I meant to have treated you to the public ground at the hotel, as I knew you had only a scrubby little bit of lawn; and this is what has met my eyes this morning! You have deceived mother and me; you have let us enjoy our holiday, which I didn't a bit, for I had a sort of nasty presentiment and a heap of uncomfortable thoughts; and all the while you were slaving away at this hideous dressmaking,--I wish I could burn the whole rag, tag, and bobtail,--and never let us know you wanted anything. And you call that being friends!"

"Yes, and the best of friends, too," responded Phillis, cheerfully, for Nan was too much crushed by all this eloquence to answer. "Come along, Dulce! don't listen any more to this nonsense, when you know mother is wanting us. d.i.c.k is all very well when he is in a good humor, but time and dressmaking wait for no man." And the young hypocrite dragged the unwilling Dulce away. "Can't you leave them alone to come to an understanding?" whispered Phillis in her ear, when they got outside the door. "I can see it in his eyes; and Nan is on the verge of crying, she is so upset with the surprise. And, you goose, where are you going now?"

"To mother. Did you not say she wanted us?"

"Oh, you silly child!" returned Phillis, calmly: "does not mother always want us? One must say what comes uppermost in one's mind in emergencies of this sort. But for me, you would have stood there for an hour staring at them. Mother is out, as it happens: if you like we will go and meet her. Oh, no, I forgot: d.i.c.k is a young man, and it would not be proper. Let us go into the kitchen and help Dorothy." And away they went.

"Phillis is a trump!" thought d.i.c.k, as he shut the door. "I love that girl." And then he marched up to Nan, and took her hands boldly.

"Now, Nan you owe me amends for this; at least you will say you are sorry."

"No, d.i.c.k," hanging her head, for she could not face his look, he was so masterful and determined with her, and so unlike the easy d.i.c.k of old. "I am not a bit sorry: I would not have spoiled your holiday for worlds."

"My holiday!--a precious holiday it was without you! A lot of stupid climbing, with grinning idiots for company. Well, never mind that,"

his wrathful tone changing in a moment. "So you kept me in the dark just for my own good?"

"Yes, of course, d.i.c.k. What an unnecessary question!"

"And you wanted me, Nan?"

"Yes," very faintly, and there was a little tear-drop on one of Nan's lashes.

She had been so miserable,--how miserable he would never know; but he need not have asked her that.

"Oh, very well: then I won't bother you with any more questions. Now we understand each other, and can just go to business."

Nan looked up in his face in alarm. She antic.i.p.ated another lecture, but nothing of the sort came. d.i.c.k cleared his throat, got a little red, and went on.

"I say settle our business, because we have been as good as engaged all these years. You know you belong to me, Nan?"

"Yes, d.i.c.k," she returned, obediently; for she was too much taken by surprise to know what she ought to say, and the two words escaped from her almost unconsciously.

"There never was a time we were not fond of each other,--ever since you were so high," pointing to what would represent the height of an extremely dwarfish infant of seven or eight months.

"Oh, not so long ago as that," returned Nan, laughing a little.

"Quite as long," repeated d.i.c.k, solemnly. "I declare, I have been so fond of you all my life, Nan, that I have been the happiest fellow in the world. Now, look here; just say after me, 'd.i.c.k, I promise on my word and honor to marry you.'"

Nan repeated the words, and then she paused in affright.

"But your father!" she gasped,--"and the dressmaking! Oh, d.i.c.k! what have you made me say? You have startled me into forgetting everything.

Oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall I do?" continued Nan, in the most innocent way. "We shall be engaged all our lives, for he will never allow you to marry me. d.i.c.k, dear d.i.c.k, please let me off! I never meant to give in like this."

"Never mind what you meant to do," returned d.i.c.k, with the utmost gravity: "the thing is, you have done it. On your word and honor, Nan, remember. Now we are engaged."

"Oh, but d.i.c.k, please don't take such advantage of me, just because I said--or, at least, you said--I was fond of you. What will mother say?

She will be so dreadfully shocked; and it is so cruel to your father.

I will be engaged to you in a way. I will promise--I will vow, if you will--never to marry any one else."

"I should think not," interrupted d.i.c.k, fiercely. "I would murder the fellow, whoever he was!" and in spite of himself his thought reverted to the fair beard and handsome face of the young clergyman.

Nan saw from his obstinate face that her eloquence was all wasted; but she made one more attempt, blushing like a rose:

"I will even promise to marry you, if your father gives his consent.

You know, d.i.c.k, I would never go against him."

"Nor I. You ought to know me better, Nan, than to think I should act shabbily and leave the dear old fellow in the dark."

"Then you will set me free," marvelling a little over her lover's good sense and filial submission.

"As free as an engagement permits. Why, what do you mean, Nan? Have I not just told you we are engaged for good and all? Do you suppose I do not mean to tell my father so on the first opportunity? There he comes! bless the man, I knew he would follow me! Now you shall see how I can stick up for the girl I love." But d.i.c.k thought it better to release the hand he had been holding all this time.

There are certain moments in life when one is in too exalted a mood to feel the usual sensations that circ.u.mstances might warrant. At another time Nan would have been shocked at the condition of her work-room, being a tidy little soul, and thrifty as to pins and other odds and ends; and the thought of Mr. Mayne coming upon them unexpectedly would have frightened her out of her senses.

The room was certainly not in its usual order. There had been much business transacted there that morning. The table was strewn with breadths of gay _broche_ silk; an unfinished gauzy-looking dress hung over a chair; the door of the wardrobe was open, and a row of dark-looking shapes--like Bluebeard's decapitated wives--were dimly revealed to view. A sort of lay figure, draped in calico, was in one corner. As Nan observed to Phillis afterwards, "There was not a tidy corner in the whole room."

Nevertheless, the presence of d.i.c.k so glorified the place that Nan looked around at the chaos quite calmly, as she heard Mr. Mayne's sharp voice first inquiring for her mother and then for herself.

Dorothy, with her usual tact, would have shown him into the little parlor; but Nan, who wished for no disguise, stepped forward and threw open the door.

"I am here, Dorothy. Come in, Mr. Mayne. d.i.c.k is here too, and I am so sorry mother is out."

"I might have known that scapegrace would have given me the slip!"

muttered Mr. Mayne, as he shook hands ungraciously with Nan, and then followed her into the work-room.

d.i.c.k, who was examining the wardrobe, turned round and saluted his father with a condescending nod:

"You were too long with the parson: I could not wait, you see. Did you make all these dresses, Nan? You are awfully clever, you girls! They look first-rate,--this greeny-browny-yellowish one, for example,"

pulling out a much furbelowed garment destined for Mrs. Squails.

"Oh, d.i.c.k, do please leave them alone!" and Nan authoritatively waved him away, and closed the wardrobe.

"I was only admiring your handiwork," returned d.i.c.k, imperturbably.

"Does she not look a charming little dressmaker, father?" regarding Nan with undisguised pleasure, as she stood in her pretty bib-ap.r.o.n before them.

But Mr. Mayne only drew his heavy eyebrows together, and said,--