"Surely I may shake hands with your father."

"Not to-night--not till--John, I may tell him, may I not? I must tell
him at once."

"Certainly," said he.

"And then you shall see him to-morrow. Let me see--at what hour shall
I bid you come?"

"To breakfast."

"No, indeed. What on earth would your aunt do with her broiled turkey
and the cold pie? I have got no cold pie for you."

"I hate cold pie."

"What a pity! But, John, I should be forced to leave you directly
after breakfast. Come down--come down at two, or three; and then I
will go back with you to Aunt Penelope. I must see her to-morrow;" and
so at last the matter was settled, and the happy Captain, as he left
her, was hardly resisted in his attempt to press her lips to his own.

When she entered the parlour in which her father was sitting, there
still were Gribbles and Poulter discussing some knotty point of Devon
lore. So Patience took off her hat, and sat herself down, waiting till
they should go. For full an hour she had to wait, and then Gribbles
and Poulter did go. But it was not in such matters as this that
Patience Woolsworthy was impatient. She could wait, and wait, and
wait, curbing herself for weeks and months, while the thing waited for