“Whenever Bret wants me,” said Sheila, and she added “Ooh!” for he squeezed her fingers with merciless gratitude.
“Oh, Sheila! Sheila!” said Polly, clutching at her other hand as if she would hold her little girl back from crossing the stile of womanhood.
Roger hummed several times in the greatest possible befuddlement. At length he said:
“And what do your parents say, Mr. Winston?—or are they—er—living?”
“Yes, sir, both of them, thank you. They don’t know anything about it yet, sir.”
“And do you think they will be pleased?”
“When they know Sheila they can’t help loving her.”
“It has happened, I believe,” said Roger, “that parents have not altogether echoed their children’s enthusiasms. And there are still a few people who would not consider a popular actress an ideal daughter-in-law.”
“Oh, they won’t make any trouble!” said Winfield. “They ought to be proud of—of an alliance with such—er—distinguished forebears as you.” He tried to include Polly and Roger in one look, and he thought the tribute rather graceful.
Roger smiled at the bungled compliment and answered, “Well, the Montagues and the Capulets were both prominent families, but that didn’t help Romeo and Juliet much.”