The old man placed his hands upon the arms of the chair and gazed in astonishment, exclaiming—
“‘Insulted!—outraged!’ Whom? You, my daughter Miss Clifton! Impossible.”
“Yes, sir! me, your daughter—Carolyn Clifton!”
“Who has presumed—who has dared—?”
“Captain Clifton, sir, ‘has dared!’” replied the indignant beauty, rising in her excitement.
The old gentleman stared at her in blank wonder for a minute, and then—taking her hand—
“Sit down—sit down—sit down—sit down,” he kept repeating, “and tell me all about it.”
Carolyn drank a glass of ice water that stood near her on the table, and then, in a cooler manner, told her father exactly what had passed, and how it had finally ended.
The old gentleman scratched his snow-white head in vexation and perplexity, but the winter bloom of his broad, rosy face, was neither heightened nor lowered at the hearing of the tale. He did not by any means display the indignation the offended beauty had expected.
“Well, sir!” at last she said, rather haughtily, “what do you say to this?”