"I do. I love my girls and my boy. And my brandy-and-water, do you mean to say, you rogue?"
"And me?" Emilia looked up at him beseechingly.
"Yes, and you. I do. I haven't known you long, my dear, but I shall be glad to do what I can for you. You shall make my house your home as long as you live; and if I say, make haste and get married, it's only just this: girls ought to marry young, and not be in an uncertain position."
"Am I worth having?"
"To be sure you are! I should think so. You haven't got a penny; but, then, you're not for spending one. And"—Mr. Pole nodded to right and left like a man who silenced a host of invisible logicians, urging this and that—"you're a pleasant companion, thrifty, pretty, musical: by Jingo! what more do they want? They'll have their song and chop at home."
"Yes; but suppose it depends upon their fathers?"
"Well, if their fathers will be fools, my dear, I can't help 'em. We needn't take 'em in a lump: how about the doctor? I'll see him to-morrow morning, and hear what he has to say. Shall I?"
Mr. Pole winked shrewdly.
"You will not make my heart break?" Emilia's voice sounded one low chord as she neared the thing she had to say.
"Bless her soul!" the old merchant patted her; "I'm not the sort of man for that."