“This is my fiancé—Mr. Walter Trimble,” Kathleen proudly announced.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Mr. Trimble. “Kath tells me you’re on to do us a good turn.”
Michael looked at Mr. Trimble, resolutely anxious to find in him the creator of Kathleen’s noble destiny. He saw a thick-set young man in a splendidly fitting, but ill-cut blue serge suit; he saw a dark moustache of silky luxuriance growing amid regular features; in fact, he saw someone that might have stepped from one of the grandiose frames of that efflorescent little room. But he was Kathleen’s choice, and Michael refused to let himself feel at all disappointed.
“I think it’s bad luck not to be able to marry, if one wants to,” said Michael deeply.
“You’re right,” Mr. Trimble agreed. “That’s why I want Kath here to marry me first and tell her dad afterwards.”
“I only wish I dared,” sighed Kathleen. “Well, if we’re going to have our walk, we’d better be getting along. Will I meet you by the side-gate into the Winter Garden at a quarter to one?”
“Right-o,” said Michael.
“I wonder if you’d lend Mr. Trimble your bicycle?”
“Of course,” said Michael.
“Because we could get out of the town a bit,” suggested Kathleen. “And that’s always pleasanter.”