“For how long?”
“I cannot say—probably for a year.”
“Hah!” ejaculated the admiral, with a sigh of relief. “A year before he would be compelled to part with his child.”
“And under the circumstances, Sir Mark, I am obliged to throw myself upon your mercy.”
“What do you mean?” cried the admiral in alarm.
“Can you ask, sir?” said Barron reproachfully. “I know it is making a great demand upon you and dear Myra; but life is short, and I ask you if my position would not be terrible. It would be like exile to me. I could not bear it. I would say to my agent, ‘Let the estate go to—’ never mind where; but that would be courting ruin at a time when I am beginning to learn the value of money, as a slave of the lamp, who can, at my lightest order, bring everything I desire to lay at my darling’s feet.”
“You mean,” cried the admiral hotly, “that you want the wedding hurried on?”
“To be plain, Sir Mark, I do. In a month from now. I must go by the next mail boat but one.”
“It is impossible, sir!” cried Sir Mark.
Barron shook his head and the admiral changed his position in his chair.