“Yes, as serious as life,” she answered.
“You make me very anxious,” I said. “The young man has not, I fear, any means of gaining a livelihood for more than himself.”
“Why should he before he wanted it? I like to see a man who can be content with an art and a living by it.”
“I hope I have not been to blame in allowing them to see so much of each other,” I said, hardly heeding my wife’s words.
“It came about quite naturally,” she rejoined. “If you had opposed their meeting, you would have been interfering just as if you had been Providence. And you would have only made them think more about each other.”
“He hasn’t said anything—has he?” I asked in positive alarm.
“O dear no. It may be all my fancy. I am only looking a little ahead. I confess I should like him for a son-in-law. I approve of him,” she added, with a sweet laugh.
“Well,” I said, “I suppose sons-in-law are possible, however disagreeable, results of having daughters.”
I tried to laugh, but hardly succeeded.
“Harry,” said my wife, “I don’t like you in such a mood. It is not like you at all. It is unworthy of you.”