“With pleasure.”
“Then I fear,” said the old gentleman, with a sigh, “my opposition to the match must cease here. I still recommend you to wait; but—there! I might just as well advise fire and tow to live neighbors and keep cool.”
To show the injustice of this simile, Christopher Staines started up with his eyes all aglow, and cried out, rapturously, “Oh, sir, may I tell her?”
“Yes, you may tell her,” said Lusignan, with a smile. “Stop—what are you going to tell her?”
“That you consent, sir. God bless you! God bless you! Oh!”
“Yes, but that I advise you to wait.”
“I'll tell her all,” said Staines, and rushed out even as he spoke, and upset a heavy chair with a loud thud.
“Ah! ah!” cried the old gentleman in dismay, and put his fingers in his ears—too late. “I see,” said he, “there will be no peace and quiet now till they are out of the house.” He lighted a soothing cigar to counteract the fracas.
“Poor little Rosa! a child but yesterday, and now to encounter the cares of a wife, and perhaps a mother. Ah! she is but young, but young.”
The old gentleman prophesied truly; from that moment he had no peace till he withdrew all semblance of dissent, and even of procrastination.