Van Buren sat down.
"Harry, if you'd only let me.... But I know that vexes you, so I won't talk of it. You're Quixotic, that's what's the matter with you." He smiled, pleased with the word. "Yes, Quixotic! I want to speak to you about your cousin—I mean Miss Daphne, the beauteous broo-nette."
"Well, how do you think you're getting on?" asked Harry, who already knew from Valentia that it was hopeless.
"Not as well as I should like, Harry. I can't say I feel I'm making any very great progress. She's a dream, but I'm afraid she regards me as a heavy-weight. She's only a child, really, I know. She would prefer a little boy of her own age who would make her laugh. Maybe she thinks I'm too old. What do you say?"
"You must give her time."
"I pay her every little attention that I can," said Van Buren seriously.
"Perhaps you're too attentive."
"I'd give her anything in the world she wanted, Harry, if she'd let me."
"Well, give her a miss for safety."
"What's that?"