Judge Merlin was walking up and down the floor, with signs of disturbance in his looks and manners.
A waiter with decanters of brandy and wine, and some glasses, stood upon the table. This was a very unusual thing.
"Well, Ishmael, it is done! my girl is to be a viscountess; but I do not like it; no, I do not like it!"
Ishmael was incapable of reply; but the judge continued:
"It is not only that I shall lose her; utterly lose her, for her home will be in another hemisphere, and the ocean will roll between me and my sole child,—it is not altogether that,—but, Ishmael, I don't like the fellow; and I never did, and never can!"
Here the judge paused, poured out a glass if wine, drank it, and resumed:
"And I do not know why I don't like him! that is the worst of it! His rank is, of course, unexceptionable, and indeed much higher than a plain republican like myself has a right to expect in a son-in-law! And his character appears to be unquestionable! He is good-looking, well-behaved, intelligent and well educated young fellow enough, and so I do not know why it is that I don't like him! But I don't like him, and that is all about it!"
The judge sighed, ran his hands through his gray hair, and continued:
"If I had any reason for this dislike; if I could find any just cause of offense in him; if I could put my hand down on any fault of his character, I could then say to my daughter: 'I object to this man for your husband upon this account,' and then I know she would not marry him in direct opposition to my wishes. But, you see, I cannot do anything like this, and my objection to the marriage, if I should express it, would appear to be caprice, prejudice, injustice—"
He sighed again, walked several times up and down the floor in silence, and then once more resumed his monologue: