“I know it. I never lied about my age to anybody.”
“You are in the Yankee army!”
“Yes, I am,” responded Throckmorton, boldly, “and I shall stay in it.”
“And my daughter—”
“For God’s sake, Mrs. Temple, let us talk reasonably together! I am not going to take your daughter campaigning.”
“It isn’t that I mean, George Throckmorton. I mean the uniform you wear—”
“Is the best in the world! Now, my dear old friend—the best friend I ever had—I want your consent and General Temple’s—I want it very much, but it isn’t absolutely necessary. Jacqueline and I are to be married. We settled that last night.”
Mrs. Temple, with whom nobody had ever taken a bold stand before, looked perfectly aghast. Throckmorton saw his advantage, and pressed it hard.
“Have you any objection to me personally? Am I a drunkard, or a gambler, or a cad?”
“You are not,” responded Mrs. Temple, after a pause. “I think you are, on the whole, except my husband and my dead son, as much of a man—”