“I guess we haven’t had the last—unless it’s somewhere round,” said Mr. Dosson.
“Poppa, go out and get it—you can buy it on the boulevard!” Delia continued. “Francie, what DID you want to tell him?”
“I didn’t know. I was just conversing. He seemed to take so much interest,” Francie pleaded.
“Oh he’s a deep one!” groaned Delia.
“Well, if folks are immoral you can’t keep it out of the papers—and I don’t know as you ought to want to,” Mr. Dosson remarked. “If they ARE I’m glad to know it, lovey.” And he gave his younger daughter a glance apparently intended to show that in this case he should know what to do.
But Francie was looking at her sister as if her attention had been arrested. “How do you mean—‘a deep one’?”
“Why he wanted to break it off, the fiend!”
Francie stared; then a deeper flush leapt to her face, already mottled as with the fine footprints of the Proberts, dancing for pain. “To break off my engagement?”
“Yes, just that. But I’ll be hanged if he shall. Poppa, will you allow that?”
“Allow what?”