"Where then?" asked Monroe, as if it were any of his affair where they went.
"We may go to the mountains for a few months, so that she can recuperate, and later in the summer we may go to Europe," answered Mr. Jarney.
"Mr. Jarney," said the ghost, in a muffled voice, as if he would burst with his secret, and as if his tongue were tied, "Mr. Jarney, what—what—do you—think of me—as a suitor for your—daughter's—hand?" And then he looked as if he were made of translucent glass, or polished marble, or anything that was hard and white and had a polished surface, with sterile spots on top of it.
This was a stunner to the placid Mr. Jarney. The irrepressible Monroe looked stony enough that he might be taken for a real stone god of the Stares, as Mr. Jarney pierced him through with his piercingly keen eyes.
"You don't mean it, Monroe?" he finally said, after looking at him a long time, with a smile of the ridiculous mould.
"I am in earnest, Mr. Jarney—never more in earnest," responded Monroe.
"Have you asked the young lady yet?" asked Mr. Jarney, still unable to believe the man was in earnest.
"Not yet; but I want your opinion first, Mr. Jarney," answered Monroe, fingering his watch fob.
"You are very amusing, Mr. Monroe; very amusing," said Mr. Jarney, facetiously.
"Then you don't look upon me with favor?" asked Monroe.