"And what is your father like?"
"He is old, of course; he has white hair and a red face, and is short in stature and in temper."
"You do not speak of him very respectfully."
"You are always hauling me up, Helen. First I am lazy, now I am unfilial."
"I beg your pardon. I forget, I am too ready to say the first thing that comes into my head."
"Never mind begging my pardon. I like to be lectured by you," taking her hand in his.
"Do not—supposing Mrs. Creery were to see you?" trying to withdraw hers,—and vainly.
"What if she did?" he returned boldly; "it is my own property."
Thus silenced, Helen submitted to have her arm drawn within her lover's, and her hand clasped tightly in his.
"Where does your father live, and what does he do, and like?" she asked presently.