"He thinks she should be married, and proposes to arrange the matter."
The idea of Uncle Josiah as a matchmaker filled the German with comic delight. He broke into Gargantuan laughter. "I should like to hear his plan of campaign."
"Oh, dear Aunt Gainor," cried a voice from an upper window, "what is the joke? Tell me, or I shall come down and find out."
"Go to bed, minx!" shouted Miss Gainor. "Mr. Schmidt is going to be married, and I am to be bridesmaid. To bed with you!"
"Fie, for shame, Aunt! He will tell me to-morrow." The white figure disappeared from the window.
"Oh, Josiah is set on it—really set on it, and you know his possibilities of combining folly with obstinacy."
"Yes, I know. And who is the happy man?"
"The Vicomte de Courval, please."
Schmidt whistled low. "I beg your pardon, Mistress Gainor. Cannot you stop him? The fool! What does he propose to do?"