He had come to propose,
and propose he would, _ruat coelum_. His confidence in a successful
termination to his suit had been reinforced that very morning by the
receipt of a note from Miss Chapman asking him to dine with her parents
and herself that evening, and to accompany them after dinner to the
opera. Surely that meant a great deal, and Jingleberry conceived that
the time was ripe for a blushing "yes" to his long-deferred question.
So he was here in the Chapman parlor waiting for the young lady to come
down and become the recipient of the "interesting interrogatory," as it
is called in some sections of Massachusetts.
"I'll ask her the first thing," said Jingleberry, buttoning up his Prince
Albert, as though to impart a possibly needed stiffening to his backbone.
"She will say yes, and then I shall enjoy the dinner and the opera so much
the more. Ahem! I wonder if I am pale--I feel sort of--um--There's a
mirror. That will tell." Jingleberry walked to the mirror--an oval,
gilt-framed mirror, such as was very much the vogue fifty years ago, for
which reason alone, no doubt, it was now admitted to the gold-and-white
parlor of the house of Chapman.
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