“Will you let us hope so, Van Arlen?”
“But——”
“Well?”
“Would not Caroline, who is nearer your own age——”
“I am convinced that Leida’s influence will act on me more powerfully,” said Prigson, humbly. “What do you think of taking a drive out to the baths now? I shall have a better chance of getting a few words with Leida than here, where there are always six more of them sitting sorrowing that the offer was not for them.”
“I do not think my daughters would take that view of each other’s happiness.”
“Come! we’re getting on!—you call it happiness, do you? Will you have a fly ordered?”
“The nearest driver is a Roman Catholic.”
“No, of course he must not drive us; that would begin to play the mischief with the moral principles at once. I’ll go and find a Calvinist cabman.”
That same evening Leida called her uncle by his first name; and in two months’ time the Van Arlens were giving a ball in honour of the engagement,—a thing they had never done before,—with Prigson’s money. Talm appeared at this festivity; and the man with the handwriting, who was accustomed to amuse his leisure hours with the clarionet (purely for the love of art, of course), also assisted—at a distance. He told his friends next morning that he had been one of the invited guests, and that Mr Talm would probably get a good piece of promotion before long, for he had been dancing all the evening with one and the same Miss Van Arlen—who, moreover, gave him her bouquet when he left!