He filled his pipe thoughtfully.
"For though in some ways she seems to me to be rather old for her years—old-fashioned, you know, and womanly, and all that—she's really rather young."
He seemed to consider this a difficulty. Then he looked at me with a kind of deprecating straightness.
"You'd be giving her," he said, "to a fellow who's old enough to be her father."
I suppose that I looked a little surprised.
"Yes, I do," he said humbly; "I mean Molly."
We sucked our pipes in silence for a minute or two, looking at one another through the tobacco smoke. Then I asked him if he had ever pointed out to Molly her striking lack of modernity. He shook his head.
"Hadn't the pluck," he confessed; "but it's so obvious, isn't it?"
He glanced at me anxiously.
"But you mustn't think I'm against it," he said. "It's so rare nowadays. And I think it's beautiful; and anyway, it's just what I've been wanting all my life."