“Mr. Maurice,” began Andrew, half trembling, but wholly resolved, he thought—­although it must be confessed that with time, and distance, and Frarnie’s effusive letters and flattering prospects on the other hand, Louie’s image was not so bright at that moment as it had been at others, and for that very reason Andrew was taking great credit to himself for his upright intentions—­credit enough to tide him over a good deal of baseness if need were,—­“Mr. Maurice—­” he began; and there he paused to frame his sentence more suitably, for it was no easy thing to tell a man that he was throwing his child at one who did not care for her, and that man the disposer of his fortunes.

But Mr. Maurice saved him any such trouble.  “I know all you’re going to say,” he exclaimed.  “I understand your hesitation, and I honor you for it.  But I’m no fool, and there’s no need to have you tell me that you want my Frarnie, for I’ve known that long ago.”

“Mr. Maurice!”

“Yes, I have,” answered the impulsive gentleman.  “Mrs. Maurice and I talked it over as soon as we saw which way the wind lay; but of course we decided to say nothing till we were sure, quite sure, that it was Frarnie and not her prospects—­”

“Oh, sir, you—­”

“Tush, tush!  I know all about it now.  But it becomes a father to be wary,” continued the other, taking the words from Andrew’s lips in spite of himself, and quite wary enough not to mention that in Frarnie’s easily-excited favor a young scapegrace was very likely to supplant Mr. Andrew if things were not brought to a point at once.  “It was my duty to look at all sides,” he said, without stopping for breath.  “Now I know you, and I see you’d rather give the girl the go-by for ever than have her think you wanted her because she was her father’s daughter, and not some poor fisherman’s.”

“Indeed, indeed—­” began Andrew again, leaning forward, his cheeks crimson, his very hands shaking.

“Of course, my boy,” interrupted his companion as before—­“of course.  Don’t say a word:  you’re welcome to her at last.  I never thought I’d surrender her to any one so freely; but if I were choosing from all the world, Andrew, I don’t know any one I’d choose sooner for my son.  She’s a sensible girl, my Frarnie is, at bottom.  We know her heart:  it’s a good heart—­only the froth of all young girls’ fancies to be blown off.  And the Sabrina always was a pet of mine, and, though I’ve said nothing of it, I’ve meant her for Frarnie’s husband this many a day.”  And before Andrew, in his flurry and embarrassment and bewilderment, could enunciate any distinct denial of anything or avowal of anything else, the chaise was at the door, and Mrs. Maurice was waiting for him with extended hands, and Frarnie was standing and smiling behind, half turned to run away.  And Mr. Maurice cried out:  “Captain Traverse of the Sabrina, my dear!  Here, Frarnie, Frarnie! none of your airs and graces!  Come and give your