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His meaning dawned on
her at length, and he was not kept waiting long for her answer. I
have often heard him tease her about it. She looked at him with an
adorable smile, her eyes brimming over with tears, and said: 'Why,
of course. I'll marry you GRATEFULLY, and I think it is perfectly
sweet of you to like me. But what a blow for mamma!' They were
married with as little delay as possible, and he took her off to
Paris, Italy, and Egypt, had six months abroad, and brought her
back--this! I was staying with them once, and her mother was also
there. We were sitting in the morning room,--no men, just half a
dozen women,--and her mother began finding fault about something,
and said: 'Has not Lord Ingleby often told you of it?' Myra looked
up in her sweet, lazy way and answered: 'Dear mamma, I know it must
seem strange to you, but, do you know, my husband thinks everything
I do perfect.' 'Your husband is a fool!' snapped her mother. 'From
YOUR point of view, dear mamma,' said Myra, sweetly.


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