"Again!" I said.
"What?"
"Say it again. Do, please. Now."
"Very well. Jerry!"
"It was the first time you had called me by my Christian name. I don't
suppose you've the remotest notion how splendid it sounds when you
say it. There is something poetical, something almost holy, about it."
"Jerry, please!"
"Say on."
"Do be sensible. Don't you see how serious this is? We must think how
we can make father consent."
"All right," I said. "We'll tackle the point. I'm sorry to be
frivolous, but I'm so happy I can't keep it all in. I've got you, and
I can't think of anything else."
"Try."
"I'll pull myself together.... Now, say on once more."
"We can't marry without father's consent."
"Why not?" I said, not having a marked respect for the professor's
whims. "Gretna Green is out of date, but there are registrars."
"I hate the very idea of a registrar," she said with decision.
"Besides--"
"Well?"
"Poor father would never get over it. We've always been such friends.
If I married against his wishes, he would--oh, you know--not let me
come near him again, and not write to me. And he would hate it all the
time he was doing it. He would be bored to death without me."
"Anybody would," I said.
"Because, you see, Norah has never been quite the same. She has spent
such a lot of her time on visits to people that she and father don't
understand each other so well as he and I do. She would try and be
nice to him, but she wouldn't know him as I do. And, besides, she will
be with him such a little, now she's going to be married."
"But, look here," I said, "this is absurd. You say your father would
never see you again, and so on, if you married me. Why? It's
nonsense. It isn't as if I were a sort of social outcast. We were the
best of friends till that man Hawk gave me away like that."
"I know. But he's very obstinate about some things. You see, he thinks
the whole thing has made him look ridiculous, and it will take him a
long time to forgive you for that."
I realized the truth of this. One can pardon any injury to oneself,
unless it hurts one's vanity. Moreover, even in a genuine case of
rescue, the rescued man must always feel a little aggrieved with his
rescuer when he thinks the matter over in cold blood. He must regard
him unconsciously as the super regards the actor manager, indebted to
him for the means of supporting existence, but grudging him the lime
light and the center of the stage and the applause. Besides, everyone
instinctively dislikes being under an obligation which he can never
wholly repay. And when a man discovers that he has experienced all
these mixed sensations for nothing, as the professor had done, his
wrath is likely to be no slight thing.
Taking everything into consideration, I could not but feel that it
would require more than a little persuasion to make the professor
bestow his blessing with that genial warmth which we like to see in
our fathers-in-law elect.
"You don't think," I said, "that time, the great healer, and so on--he
won't feel kindlier disposed toward me--say in a month's time?"
"Of course, he _might_," said Phyllis; but she spoke doubtfully.
"He strikes me, from what I have seen of him, as a man of moods. I
might do something one of these days which would completely alter his
views. We will hope for the best."
"About telling father--"
"Need we tell him?" I asked.
"Yes, we must. I couldn't bear to think that I was keeping it from
him. I don't think I've ever kept anything from him in my life.
Nothing bad, I mean."
"You count this among your darker crimes, then?"
"I was looking at it from father's point of view. He will be awfully
angry. I don't know how I shall begin telling him."
"Good heavens!" I cried, "you surely don't think I'm going to let you
do that! Keep safely out of the way while you tell him? Not much. I'm
coming back with you now, and we'll break the bad news together."
"No, not to-night. He may be tired and rather cross. We had better
wait till to-morrow. You might speak to him in the morning."
"Where shall I find him?"
"He is certain to go to the beach before breakfast to bathe."
"Good. To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day. I'll be
there."
* * * * *
"Ukridge," I said, when I got back, "can you give me audience for a
brief space? I want your advice."
This stirred him like a trumpet blast. When a man is in the habit of
giving unsolicited counsel to everyone he meets, it is as invigorating
as an electric shock to him to be asked for it spontaneously.
"What's up, old horse?" he asked eagerly. "I'll tell you what to do.
Get on to it. Bang it out. Here, let's go into the garden."
I approved of this. I can always talk more readily in the dark, and I
did not wish to be interrupted by the sudden entrance of the hired
retainer or Mrs. Beale. We walked down to the paddock. Ukridge lit a
cigar.
"I'm in love, Ukridge," I said.
"What!"
"More--I'm engaged."
A huge hand whistled through the darkness and smote me heavily between
the shoulder blades.
"Thanks," I said; "that felt congratulatory."
"By Jove! old boy, I wish you luck. 'Pon my word, I do. Fancy you
engaged! Best thing in the world for you. Never knew what happiness
was till I married. A man wants a helpmeet--"
"And this man," I said, "seems likely to go on wanting. That's where I
need your advice. I'm engaged to Miss Derrick."
"Miss Derrick!" He spoke as if he hardly knew whom I meant.
"You can't have forgotten her! Good heavens, what eyes some men have!
Why, if I'd only seen her once, I should have remembered her all my
life."
"I know now. She came to dinner here with her father, that fat little
buffer."
"As you were careful to call him at the time. Thereby starting all the
trouble."
"You fished him out of the water afterwards."
"Quite right."
"Why, it's a perfect romance, old horse. It's like the stories you
read."
"And write. But they all end happily. 'There is none, my brave young
preserver, to whom I would more willingly intrust my daughter's
happiness.' Unfortunately, in my little drama, the heavy father seems
likely to forget his cue."
"The old man won't give his consent?"
"Probably not."
"But why? What's the matter with you? If you marry, you'll come into
your uncle's money, and all that."
"True. Affluence stares me in the face."
"And you fished him out of the water."
"After previously chucking him in."
"What!"
"At any rate, by proxy."