'Now, Henry, I'm not going to have you getting all stirred up. Let's admit that you're fond of Cicely. You are, aren't you? Yes? Well, now we'll try to look at it sensibly. How old are you?'
'I'm twenty, but——'
'When will you be twenty-one?'
'Next month. You see——'
'Now tell me—try to think this out clearly—how on earth could you expect to take care of a girl who's been brought up as Cicely has. Even if she were old enough to know her own mind, which I can't believe she is.'
'Oh, but she does!'
'Fudge, Henry! She couldn't. What experience has she had? Never mind that, though. Tell me, what is your income now. You'll admit I have a right to ask.'
'Twelve a week, but——'
'And what prospects have you? Be practical now! How far do you expect to rise on the Gleaner!'
'Not very high, but our circulation——'