“Alice, come Alice, you know how I love you; and that all that I care for is your own good.”
“And are we so utterly different, papa, in our tastes, and perceptions, and principles, that you can ever dream that it is good for me to marry Mr. Chapman?”
“Well, my dear, he is a very nice man, quiet, and gentle, and kind to every one, and most attentive to his father. He could place you in a very good position, Alice; and you would still be near me. Also, there are other reasons making it desirable.”
“What other reasons, papa, may I know? Something about land, I suppose. Land is at the bottom of every mischief.”
“You desperate little radical! Well, I will confess that land has a good deal to do with it.”
“Papa, am I worth twenty acres to you? Tell the truth now, am I?”
“My darling, you are so very foolish. How can you ask such a question!”
“Well, then, am I worth fifty? Come now, am I worth as much as fifty? Don’t be afraid now, and say that I am, if you really feel that I am not.”
“How many fifties—would you like to know? Come to me, and I will tell you.”
“No, not yet, papa. There is no kiss for you, unless you say I am worth a thousand!”