"Why don't you want me for a son-in-law?" asked the young man, for the hundredth time.
"Can you give me one single reason why I should want you?" asked Mr. Delancy wearily.
Harroll stood buried in meditation for a few moments. "No," he said, "I can't recall any important reasons at the moment."
"I can supply you with one—your sense of honor—but it doesn't count in this case, because you wouldn't be in my house if you didn't have any."
Harroll looked at the fire.
"I've told you a hundred times that when my little girl marries, she marries one of her own kind. I don't like Englishmen. And that is all there is to it, Jim."
"Don't you like me?"
"I'm not infatuated with you."
"Well," said Harroll, slowly pacing the rug in front of the fire, "it's curious, isn't it?—but, do you know, I think that I am going to marry Catharine one of these days?"