“Oh—er—why not?—we thought so.”
“We thought—that is, Miss—er—she said,” blurted out the Governor desperately, “that a year’s engagement was——”
“Far too long, my boy!” interrupted his uncle peremptorily, “far too long! Don’t you give in to her about that! Why wait, Billy? What the dickens is there to wait for? (What’s this—ice? No, thanks.) Why, when I was a fine young fellow of your age, if I’d got a bonnie girl like that to look kindly at me, and enough money to keep her in style, I’d not have rested until I’d clapped a plain gold ring on the top of those diamonds on her finger. Nothing like settling down happily as soon as you’ve got the chance. Like that picture—what is it—oh, you know! Finest picture that ever was painted, I consider—in the Royal Academy years ago—prints of it in every shop-window—what’s the name of the thing?”
“‘My friend Mr. White’?” suggested the Major.
“No, no; what the dickens is it? A really beautiful thing, now, if I could only remember——”
“‘Hope,’ by G. F. Watts?” put in the Governor’s mother softly.
“No!”
“‘Harmony’?” suggested Blanche.
“‘Simple Aveu’—no—‘The Soul’s Awakening,’ Uncle Albert?” fortissimo from Theo.
“No—none o’ those. You all know it, though. I shall think of the name in a minute. Anyhow, I shall give these two young people the best print to be got of it, to hang up in their hall.”