In a transport of delight, the Captain darted from the office, took a carriage, and drove to Dinwiddie's.
"Yes, Miss Barbara is in. Walk up, Captain."
"What could be more propitious? Poets are not always in the right. Isn't my love true love, and doesn't it run smooth?"
Wait awhile, my Captain! Perhaps Shakspeare was not so much in error, after all.
Barbara's eyes plainly spoke her pleasure at seeing him. Adjoining the drawing-room was a little boudoir filled with sunshine and flowers. Into that she led him. They sat down on one of those snug contrivances for a tête-à-tête, formed like the capital letter S. A fragrance as of spring was shed through the room from the open door of a conservatory, and a canary-bird near by was tuning his voice for a song.
"Barbara, do you know it is a whole fortnight that we have known each other?"
She looked up at him inquiringly, for this was the third time he had called her by her first name. He continued,—
"Barbara, I had a pleasant interview with your father this morning, and what do you suppose I said to him?"
"Said it was a fine day, most like," returned Barbara, intent on spreading out the leaves of a half-blown rose.
"No, I said not a word about the weather. I asked him if he would have any objection to me for a son-in-law."