“Skip the seepage,” I said unsympathetically, “and give the news.”
She re-read the first paragraphs to herself with a good deal of dimpling and with eyes that suffused with feeling now and then, and turning the page began to read aloud:
Knowing that you were on the high seas far away from me, though safe with your charming Miss Clifford (Duke admires you extravagantly, Charlotte!), I concluded to burn my ships and have a straightforward talk with your mother, although you have repeatedly warned me that this was not the best method of approach and that only patience would win my cause. I sent up my card at the New Willard, and doubtless she would have refused to receive me, but, going from the office to one of the reception rooms to await her, I found her seated there with your Philadelphia aunt and another lady. There had evidently been confidences, so they scented trouble and took to their heels when I had been introduced to them somewhat informally as a friend of Dorothea’s, my name not being mentioned.
I asked your mother, when we were left alone, if she had any objection to me other than my uneuphonious and suggestive surname.
She replied guardedly, no, or at least nothing in particular, though she might say without conceit that Dorothea might aspire to anybody, even the highest.
I cordially agreed, saying that if the male sex had any eye for beauty, charm or loveliness of character, Dorothea might marry not only anybody but everybody.
She said she thought persiflage was out of taste when the happiness of a mother’s whole life was in question.
I begged pardon, but said it was necessary for me to whistle to keep my courage up, for the happiness of my whole life was in question.
She said that was beside the point and her daughter’s happiness must also be considered.
I remarked that her daughter, to my infinite surprise and gratitude, assured me that her happiness lay in the same direction as my own.