Dan was somewhat taken aback at a supposition so very contrary to what was in his mind. “Well, I don't know. Why?”
“It might be said that you are very young. How old is Agnes—Alice, I mean?”
“Twenty-one. But now, look here, mother! It's no use considering such a thing in the abstract, is it?”
“No,” said his mother, with a smile for what might be coming.
“This is the way I've been viewing it; I may say it's the way Alice has been viewing it—or Mrs. Pasmer, rather.”
“Decidedly Mrs. Pasmer, rather. Better be honest, Dan.”
“I'll do my best. I was thinking, hoping, that is, that as I'm going right into the business—have gone into it already, in fact—and could begin life at once, that perhaps there wouldn't be much sense in waiting a great while.”
“Yes?”
“That's all. That is, if you and father are agreed.” He reflected upon this provision, and added, with a laugh of confusion and pleasure: “It seems to be so very much more of a family affair than I used to think it was.”
“You thought it concerned just you and her?” said his mother, with arch sympathy.