"Let us have a little feast, Polly, for the young folks. Harry is able to sit up to table now, and we have done nothing to celebrate the engagement yet. Sucking-pig and one of the fat turkeys, and ask Juke to join us. Eh?"
"My dear," I replied, "I am perfectly willing to celebrate the engagement in any way you like—yes, we'll have a nice dinner, and ask Dr. Juke—I am sure we owe him every attention that we can possibly pay him; but what I want to warn you against is letting them suppose that there is to be any celebration of the marriage—with our consent."
Tom stared as if he did not understand.
"You mean, not immediately?" he questioned. "Of course not."
"I mean, not for years," I solemnly urged. "Tom, you must back me up in this. The boy is but a boy, with his way to make in the world. Before we allow him to saddle himself with a wife who will probably be quite useless—those University women always are—and the responsibilities of a family, he must be in a position to afford it."
"Yes," said Tom, in a tepid way. "But you and I, Polly——"
"Oh, never mind about you and me," I broke in; "that is altogether different"—for of course it was. "You were a man of twice his age."
"Which would make him about fourteen," said my husband, trying to be funny.
As for me, I saw nothing to laugh at. I cannot imagine a more serious position as between parent and child. "At his time of life," I said, "four years are equal to ten at any other stage. Let him have those four years—let him begin where his father did—and I shall be quite satisfied."
"Well, you see, my dear, it hardly rests with us, does it?"