possibility to which the young lady had alluded. She seemed in doubt, but at a venture, detaining him with a maternal touch, she twinkled up at their visitor like an insinuating glow-worm.
"I'm so glad you came."
"I'm not. I've got nothing by it," he said, finding his hat.
"Oh, it was so beautiful!" she coaxed.
"The play—yes, wonderful. I'm afraid it's too late for me to avail myself of the privilege your daughter offers me. Good-night."
"Oh, it's a pity; won't you take anything?" asked Mrs. Rooth. "When I heard your voice so high I was scared and I hung back." But before he could reply she added: "Are you really thinking of the stage?"
"It comes to the same thing."
"Do you mean you've proposed?"
"Oh, unmistakably."
"And what does she say?"
"Why, you heard: she says I'm an ass."
"Ah, the little rascal!" laughed Mrs. Rooth. "Leave her to me. I'll help you. But you are mad. Give up nothing—least of all your advantages."
"I won't give up your daughter," said Peter, reflecting that if this was cheap it was at any rate good enough for Mrs. Rooth. He mended it a little indeed by adding darkly: "But you can't make her take me."
"I can prevent her taking any one else."
"Oh, can you!" Peter ejaculated, with more scepticism than ceremony.
