"Now, listen, father," she said, puckering up her forehead prettily. "Now I am going to be very serious. There are two very good reasons why we will go. First, now that Jean is able to be up again, a sea trip is the one thing above all others that he needs. Doctor Maurier prescribes it."
"Insists on it, I suppose!" observed Henry Bliss dryly.
"He will," said Myrna, laughing, "if I ask him to."
"H'm!" commented Henry Bliss, the wrinkles around his eyes beginning to nest into a smile. "Well—and the other reason?"
"The other one," said Myrna, and laid her head down against her father's cheek; "the other one is—I must whisper it—now, listen—is because I've set my heart on it, and I want to go."
"Which settles it!" groaned Henry Bliss, with mock lugubriousness. "Well"—he got up from his chair, and brushed vigorously at the cigar ash which, incident to Myrna's embrace, bedecked his waistcoat—"well, I'll see what Jean says about it."
"Why, of course!" agreed Myrna innocently. "It all depends upon Jean. We'll leave it that way, father."
Henry Bliss looked at her, gasped once—and grinned in spite of himself.
"There isn't any other trifling matter you'd like to call my attention to this evening, is there?" he hazarded, pinching his daughter's cheek playfully. "Because, if there is, I'm—" He paused, as a footman coughed discreetly from the doorway. "Well?" he demanded.
"It is Monsieur le Curé, Monsieur Bliss," said the man.