Daughter [lifting her chin]. And old enough to be enchained at my feet all his life.
Mother [head much to one side]. And he has always been extremely cordial with me——
Daughter [chin high in air]. And not another girl in my set has had a proposal for years.
Mother [brightening eye]. We shall be in time to buy everything at the January sales!
[Mother smiles; Daughter sighs relief. The imaginations of both wander pleasantly off to visions of sublimated Christmas shopping, in connection with the trousseau and betrothal gifts. General joy.]
As I have said, this is Uncle Dudley’s idea, not mine. My own fancy prefers to conjure up a tenderer dialogue, in which the mother, all fond solicitude, bids the maiden search well her heart, and answer only its true appeal, and the sweet daughter, timid, fluttering, half-frightened and wholly glad, flashes hack from the depths of her soul the rapt assurance of her fate. But Dudley was certainly right about the ending, as the first words Mrs Albert uttered go to show.
“Don’t forget to remind me, then, about presents for the Gregory children,” she said all at once, in a swift sidelong whisper at Ermyntrude. Then she turned, and as I gazed wistfully upon her face, it melted sedately, gracefully, a little at a time, into the smile I sought.
“My dear Tristram,” she began, and her voice took on a coo of genuine kindliness and warmth as she went on, “of course Albert and I have had other views—and the dear girl is perfectly qualified to adorn the most exalted and exclusive circles—if I do say it myself—but—but her happiness is our one desire, and if she feels that it is getting—I would say, if you and she are quite clear in your own minds—and we both have the greatest confidence in your practical common-sense, and your honour—and we have all learned to be fond of you—and—and I am really very glad!”
“Most of all things in the world, dear lady, I hoped for this,” I had begun to say, with fervour. I stopped, upon the discovery that Mrs Albert was not listening, but had turned and was conferring with her daughter in half-audible asides.
“Mercy, no!” the mother said. “They’d know in a minute that it had been a present to us. That old Mrs Gregory is a perfect lynx for detecting such things. I suppose their boys are too big for tricycles, else your father knows a dealer who——”