“Oh, dad, drop it,” cried the girl.
“No, nor I shan’t drop it, miss, till I’ve seen about your rights. Suppose you mean him to come to London and begin figgering on the stage along with you?”
“I don’t, dad.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve got so much sense in your head, my gal, for, you mark my words, he’s the wrong sort. Too short and fat.”
“Dad!”
“Well, so he is, my gal. I dunno what you sees in him.”
“Oh!” ejaculated the girl, and she turned her back, snatched Syd’s tie undone, and began to retie it, as she whispered; “Oh, do finish it all, Syd. I want to get good places on the stand.”
“Perhaps,” continued the trainer, “I might make you of some use among the ’osses after a bit. But you’d have to train, and get rid of a stone of that fat.”
“Fat!” cried Syd, indignantly.
“Oh, dad, what a shame!” cried the young wife, with tears in her eyes. “Never mind what he says, Syd. You’re not fat.”