"I guess I know what you mean. It's about Penelope."
"Yes, it's about Miss Lapham. I am greatly attached to her--you'll excuse my saying it; I couldn't excuse myself if I were not."
"Perfectly excusable," said Lapham. "It's all right."
"Oh, I'm glad to hear you say that!" cried the young fellow joyfully. "I want you to believe that this isn't a new thing or an unconsidered thing with me--though it seemed so unexpected to her."
Lapham fetched a deep sigh. "It's all right as far as I'm concerned--or her mother. We've both liked you first-rate."
"Yes?"
"But there seems to be something in Penelope's mind--I don't know--" The Colonel consciously dropped his eyes.
"She referred to something--I couldn't make out what--but I hoped--I hoped--that with your leave I might overcome it--the barrier--whatever it was. Miss Lapham--Penelope--gave me the hope--that I was--wasn't--indifferent to her----"
"Yes, I guess that's so," said Lapham. He suddenly lifted his head, and confronted the young fellow's honest face with his own face, so different in its honesty. "Sure you never made up to any one else at the same time?"
"NEVER! Who could imagine such a thing? If that's all, I can easily."