The major took up the "Southern Reporter," of which he appeared deep in the contemplation, while Mrs.Dal herself buried her head in her embroidery and neither heard nor saw anything around her.
I know, unfortunately, but very little what passed between myself and my fair companion; I can only say that when supper was announced at twelve (an hour later than usual), I was sitting upon the sofa with my arm round her waist, my cheek so close that already her lovely tresses brushed my forehead, and her breath fanned my burning brow.
"Supper, at last," said the major, with a loud voice, to arouse us from our trance of happiness without taking any mean opportunity of looking unobserved.

"Supper, Sparks, O'Malley; come now, it will be some time before we all meet this way again." "Perhaps not so long, after all," said I, knowingly.
"Very likely not," echoed Sparks, in the same key.
"I've proposed for Fanny," said he, whispering in my ear.
"Matilda's mine," replied I, with the look of an emperor.
"A word with you, Major," said Sparks, his eye flashing with enthusiasm, and his cheek scarlet.

"One word,--I'll not detain you." They withdrew into a corner for a few seconds, during which Mrs.Dalrymple amused herself by wondering what the secret could be, why Mr.Sparks couldn't tell her, and Fanny meanwhile pretended to look for something at a side table, and never turned her head round.
"Then give me your hand," said the major, as he shook Sparks's with a warmth of whose sincerity there could be no question.

"Bess, my love," said he, addressing his wife.

The remainder was lost in a whisper; but whatever it was, it evidently redounded to Sparks's credit, for the next moment a repetition of the hand-shaking took place, and Sparks looked the happiest of men.
"_A mon tour_," thought I, "now," as I touched the major's arm, and led him towards the window.