want to talk with you seriously, dear," he said. "Who do you
think is downstairs?"

"Who?"

"Dear old Peter. And what do you think he's come for!"

"What?"

"Dot."

"For what?"

"He wants our consent, dear, to pay his addresses to Leonore."

"Oh, Watts!" Mrs. D'Alloi ceased to snuggle, and turned a horrified face
to her husband.

"I've thought she attracted him, but he's such an impassive, cool old
chap, that I wasn't sure."

"That's what I've been so afraid of. I've worried so over it."

"You dear, foolish little woman. What was there to worry over?"

"Watts! You won't give your consent?"

"Of course we will. Why, what more do you want? Money, reputation,
brains, health." (That was the order in which Peter's advantages ranged
themselves in Watts's mind). "I don't see what more you can ask, short
of a title, and titles not only never have all those qualities combined,
but they are really getting decidedly _nouveau richey_ and not
respectable enough for a Huguenot family, who've lived two hundred and
fifty years in New York. What a greedy mamma she is for her little
girl."

"Oh, Watts! But think!"

"It's hard work, dear, with your eyes to look at. But I will, if you'll
tell me what to think about."

"My husband! You cannot have forgotten? Oh, no! It is too horrible for
you to have forgotten that day."

"You heavenly little Puritan! So you are going to refuse Peter as a
son-in-law, because he--ah--he's not a Catholic monk. Why, Rosebud, if
you are going to apply that rule to all Dot's lovers, you had better
post a sign: 'Wanted, a husband. P.S. No man need apply.'"

"Watts! Don't talk so."

"Dear little woman. I'm only trying to show you that we can't do better
than trust our little girl to Peter."

"With that stain! Oh, Watts, give him our pure, innocent, spotless
child!"

"Oh, well. If you want a spotless wedding, let her marry the Church.
She'll never find one elsewhere, my darling."

"Watts! How can you talk so? And with yourself as an example. Oh,
husband! I want our child--our only child--to marry a man as noble and
true as her father. Surely there must be others like you?"

"Yes. I think there are a great many men as good as I, Rosebud! But I'm
no better than I should be, and it's nothing but your love that makes
you think I am."

"I won't hear you say such things of yourself. You know you are the best
and purest man that ever lived. You know you are."

"If there's any good in me,