“Even an objectionable woman is better than none,” suggested Olivia, mischievously.
“Oh, no, my dear, I didn’t say that,” whispered he, hurriedly.
“No, papa, you don’t dare,” said Olivia, with a touch of her old archness. “I really think that when a man with children marries a second time, he ought to drown the first lot in mercy to them.”
Poor Mr. Denison looked down at her ruefully.
“My dear, I hope you didn’t mean that,” was all he ventured to say.
“Yes, I did.”
Here Mr. Denison perceived an opening for a suggestion which his wife, of late, had been constantly urging him to make. Not being quite sure how his daughter would take it, he hurried it out in a shamefaced manner without looking at her.
“Since you don’t get on very well together, I wonder you don’t take the chance of getting a nice home of your own; you know you could if you like.”
“What; by wearing little Freddie Williams for ever on my watch chain?” cried Olivia, turning off the suggestion as a joke to avoid paining her father by expressing the disgust she felt.
“Well, my child, you know I shouldn’t press upon you anything that wouldn’t make you happy; but if you wait for a husband worthy of you, you’ll die an old maid.”