“Now, I want to talk with you seriously, dear,” he said. “Who do you think is downstairs?”
“Who?”
“Dear old Peter. And what do you think he’s come for!”
“What?”
“Dot.”
“For what?”
“He wants our consent, dear, to pay his addresses to Leonore.”
“Oh, Watts!” Mrs. D’Alloi ceased to snuggle, and turned a horrified face to her husband.
“I’ve thought she attracted him, but he’s such an impassive, cool old chap, that I wasn’t sure.”
“That’s what I’ve been so afraid of. I’ve worried so over it.”