"Well, I'm--hanged," I said. "When I think of the torments I've been
through because of that wretched man, and all for nothing, I don't
know what to say."
"Don't you like Tom?"
"Very much. I always did. But I was awfully jealous of him."
"You weren't! How silly of you."
"Of course I was. He was always about with you, and called you
Phyllis, and generally behaved as if you and he were the heroine and
hero of a musical comedy, so what else could I think? I heard you
singing duets after dinner once. I drew the worst conclusions."
"When was that?"
"It was shortly after Ukridge had got on your father's nerves, and
nipped our acquaintance in the bud. I used to come every night to the
hedge opposite your drawing-room window, and brood there by the hour."
"Poor old boy!"
"Hoping to hear you sing. And when you did sing, and he joined in all
flat, I used to scold. You'll probably find most of the bark worn off
the tree I leaned against."
"Poor old man! Still, it's all over now, isn't it?"
"And when I was doing my very best to show off before you at tennis,
you went away just as I got into form."
"I'm very sorry, but I couldn't know--could I? I thought you always
played like that."
"I know. I knew you would. It nearly turned my hair white. I didn't
see how a girl could ever care for a man who was so bad at tennis."
"One doesn't love a man because he's good at tennis."
"What _does_ a girl see to love in a man?" I inquired abruptly; and
paused on the verge of a great discovery.
"Oh, I don't know," she replied, most unsatisfactorily.
And I could draw no views from her.
"But about father," said she. "What _are_ we to do?"
"He objects to me."
"He's perfectly furious with you."
"Blow, blow," I said, "thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind--"
"He'll never forgive you."
"As man's ingratitude. I saved his life--at the risk of my own. Why, I
believe I've got a legal claim on him. Whoever heard of a man having
his life saved, and not being delighted when his preserver wanted to
marry his daughter? Your father is striking at the very root of the
short-story writer's little earnings. He mustn't be allowed to do it."
"Jerry!"