“The granddaughter. There is no need, I hope, to make the distinction, for I don't wish to be thought insane. Now you have the case. What 's your prescription?”
“Propose for her!”
“So I have, but they hesitate. The old man is not unfavorable; he is, perhaps, more: he is, in a measure, friendly; but what avails such advocacy? I want another guess sort of aid,—a clever man; or, what is better still, a clever woman, to befriend me.”
He waited some seconds for a reply, but Dill did not speak; so he went on: “A clever woman, to take a woman's view of the case, balancing this against that, never ignoring an obstacle, but inquiring what there may be to compensate for it Do you know such a one, doctor?”
“Perhaps I may; but I have my doubts about securing her services.”
“Even with a retainer?”
“Even with a retainer. You see, Major,”—here Dill dropped his voice to a most confidential whisper,—“my daughter Polly,—for I know we both have her in mind,—Polly is a strange sort of girl, and very hard to understand; for while, if the case were her own, she 'd no more think of romance than she would of giving ten guineas for a dress, if she was advising another whose position and prospects were higher than hers, it's the romantic part of it she'd lay all the stress on.”
“From which I gather that my suit will not stand this test!” said Stapylton, with a peculiar smile. “Eh, is n't that your meaning?”
“You are certainly some years older than the lady,” said Dill, blandly.
“Not old enough to be, as the world would surely say, 'her father,' but fully old enough to give license for sarcasm.”