He must get away before he
saw Frances.
"Wouldn't you, Mr. Van?"
In the voice beside him was shy entreaty and appeal, and, hands
clasped behind her, Carmencita waited.
"I would." Van Landing made effort to smile, but in his eyes was no
smiling. Into them had come sudden purpose. "I shall ask her to marry
me to-morrow."
Arms extended to the limit of their length, Carmencita whirled round
and round the room, then, breathless, stopped and, taking Van
Landing's hand, lifted it to her lips.
"I kiss your hand, my lord, and bring you greetings from your faithful
subjects! I read that in a book. I'll be the subject. Isn't it grand
and magnificent and glorious?" She stopped. "She hasn't any new
clothes. A lady can't get married without new clothes, can she? And
she won't have time to get any on Christmas eve. Whether she'll do it
or not, you'll have to make her, Mr. Van, or you'll lose her again.
You've--got--to--just--make--her!"
Carmencita's long slender forefinger made a jab in Van Landing's
direction, and her head nodded with each word uttered. But before he
could answer, Mother McNeil, with breakfast on a tray, was in the room
and Carmencita was out.
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