"That's an awfully unfair advantage to take of any one, dad. Of course Ted didn't know what to say back to you?" she teased, rumpling my hair.
"You are both two ignorant young fools," Mr. Claybourne exploded ungrammatically.
"What else do you expect us to be, dad? Besides, according to Mr. Pope's famous line, it would be silly of us to be anything else. Look it up, dad, in your Bartlett's Familiar Quotations."
Mr. Claybourne chewed the end off a fresh cigar, obviously in a bad humour.
"Well, Helen, all I can say is that I hope the world won't give you too hard a knock, when it decides to take the conceit out of you. Other people have been in love before," he added with what I thought was irrelevance.
"Of course they have, dad dear. But not just like Ted and me."
Mr. Claybourne uttered a pardonable snort.
"As long as we have each other, nothing can happen to either of us," Helen said simply, in a tone that made me grip her arm tightly.
"As long as—" Mr. Claybourne said slowly to himself without finishing the sentence. A boy stopped outside the window and lit the street lamp. The room was growing dark, and a new moon was just visible above the opposite roof. There was a long silence, during which Mr. Claybourne puffed at his cigar.
"Why, what a gloom you are, dad, trying to frighten us out of our happiness with all your pessimistic grown-up ideas," Helen cried, flinging her arms impulsively about him, knocking the ash off his cigar, and seriously deranging his dignity. Nevertheless he patted his daughter on the back and was secretly much pleased.