Nancy Of Paradise Cottage Part 22

"Uncle Thomas, I'll expire if I don't hug you!"

And when she _had_ hugged him, until there was more likelihood of _his_ demise than her own, he said:

"I'm afraid I'm breaking up a brilliant business career for you, ma'am.

The little that I can offer you is a mere nothing compared to the dazzling prospects which were opening before you----"

"You needn't be jocose, Uncle," interrupted Alma, severely. "Many a millionaire started on only five cents, and _I_ started on fifteen dollars!"

"I hear that young Arnold is buying a house here," remarked Mr.

Prescott. "Now, what in the world is he doing that for?"

"Why, indeed?" murmured Alma, wickedly. "The truth is, Uncle Thomas that he is madly in love with me. He sent me all these flowers, and, measles or no measles, he has been serenading me every night; hasn't he, Miss Tracy?"

"Alma! You ridiculous creature," cried Mrs. Prescott, joining in the laugh at this nonsense. Uncle Thomas looked amused but puzzled, hardly certain whether to believe there was an element of truth in this rigmarole or not. He glanced from Mrs. Prescott to Alma, to Nancy, and there he paused. He was a good enough reader of faces to know now where the wind lay, and his eyes grew sober.

"Well, my dear little niece, you're pretty young," he said gently, "but one is never too young to be happy. What do you think, Lallie?"

Mrs. Prescott smiled, although there were tears in her eyes, and said:

"Ask Nancy, Uncle Thomas."

"Well, Nancy?"

Nancy tried to laugh, as she took her mother's hand and Alma's, and faltered again:

"I--I don't know."

But here we, who can see into the minds of all these people, have no hesitation about saying in just so many words, that she did know very well; only she didn't know that she knew.

The "Ogre" had sent a note to his nieces, asking them for dinner on a certain June evening. And strange to relate it was Nancy who delayed the proceedings. When she finally joined her admiring family she was deliciously conscious that a dress of pale gold-colored organdie, and a broad-brimmed hat trimmed with delicate blue flowers, were about the most becoming things she could possibly wear. And she was not entirely ignorant of the fact that she could be very, very pretty when she wanted to. It was pleasant to register this interesting fact on other people also, Miss Bancroft and the Ogre, and--well, George Arnold, for instance.

It was partly on account of the gathering darkness, no doubt, or partly because Alma wanted to look at the summer-house while Nancy and George wanted to continue to look at the roses, but however it was--well, there they were--Mr. Arnold and Miss Prescott, absorbedly looking at the roses. Or perhaps they weren't even looking at the roses.

"Now, look here, Nancy, if you'll be a good girl, and say what I tell you to, I'll give you something nice. It's not a candy, either."

"Wh-what do you want me to say?" gasped Nancy, suddenly feeling quite terrified.

"First of all, put your hand in mine, so," he took her hand gently, and then lifted it to his lips. "And now say--'I love you, George!'"

"Oh--I c-can't!" whispered Nancy, feebly.

"Yes, you can. Try it, dear."

"Well, don't you, Nancy?" For the first time he sounded very grave, and his eyes looked anxious. Then somehow Nancy felt quite calm and happy and brave, she answered him, honestly:

"Yes, I do. I love you, George."

She felt him take her left hand and single out the third finger. Then she felt something cool slipped on it. She gasped. The first diamond she had ever owned caught and flashed back a moonbeam.

"Oh--I didn't know it was that!" she stammered. "I would have said what--what you wanted me to, anyway, George. I mean, _I_ wanted to, awfully."

He promptly kissed her.