“I am, sir,” he said, confidently. “Maisie and I are made for each other!” he added, uttering the banality as though it were now for the first time new-minted for the lovers’ lexicon.
“Really?—It is a happy chance, for certainly Maisie’s mother and myself omitted to take you into account when we——”
“Father!”
“—named her at the baptismal font,” he continued, equably. He had scored again.
The young man was impervious.
“Perhaps there are higher Powers than you, sir?” he ventured, with polite deference.
“—Even if you are the editor of the Daily Rostrum!” added Maisie viciously.
He resettled himself in his chair under this lively counter-attack.
“Well, let us drop these witticisms,” he said with some asperity. “Come to business. Let’s hear your case, if you have one.”
“Certainly, sir. I ask your permission to marry Maisie.”