"Father," said Margaret, "Art Maguire convoyed me home; but, indeed, I
must say, I was forced to ask him."
"Art Maguire. Why, then, upon my sounds, Art, I'm glad to see you. An'
how are you, man alive? an' how is Frank, eh? As grave as a jidge, as
he always was--ha, ha, ha! Take a chair, Art, and be sittin'. Peggy,
gluntha me, remimber, you must have Art at your weddin'. It's now widin
three days of the time I'm to know who he is; and upon my sounds, I'm
like a hen on a hot griddle till I hear it."
"You're not within three days, father."
"But I say I am, accordin' to your own countin'."
"You're not within three hours, father;"--her face 'glowed, and her
whole system became vivified with singular and startling energy as she
spoke;--"no, you are not within three hours, father; not within three
minutes, my dear father; for there stands the man," she said, pointing
to Art. She gave three or four loud hysterical sobs, and then stood
calm, looking not upon her father, but upon her lover; as much as to
say, Is this love, or is it not?
Her mother, who was a quiet, inoffensive creature, without any principle
or opinion whatsoever at variance with those of her husband, rose upon
hearing this announcement; but so ambiguous were her motions, that
we question whether the most sagacious prophet of all antiquity could
anticipate from them the slightest possible clue to her opinion.
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