“Owen and she went raspberrying in the woods back of her farm,” answered Anne. “They won’t be back before supper time—if then.”
“They don’t seem to have any idea that there is such a thing as a clock,” said Gilbert. “I can’t get to the bottom of that affair. I’m certain you women pulled strings. But Anne, undutiful wife, won’t tell me. Will you, Miss Cornelia?”
“No, I shall not. But,” said Miss Cornelia, with the air of one determined to take the plunge and have it over, “I will tell you something else. I came today on purpose to tell it. I am going to be married.”
Anne and Gilbert were silent. If Miss Cornelia had announced her intention of going out to the channel and drowning herself the thing might have been believable. This was not. So they waited. Of course Miss Cornelia had made a mistake.
“Well, you both look sort of kerflummexed,” said Miss Cornelia, with a twinkle in her eyes. Now that the awkward moment of revelation was over, Miss Cornelia was her own woman again. “Do you think I’m too young and inexperienced for matrimony?”
“You know—it IS rather staggering,” said Gilbert, trying to gather his wits together. “I’ve heard you say a score of times that you wouldn’t marry the best man in the world.”
“I’m not going to marry the best man in the world,” retorted Miss Cornelia. “Marshall Elliott is a long way from being the best.”
