of her yielding, from genuine conviction, to my judgment when it was opposed to hers.  From all which it follows, my dear Morfey, that your mission to me here this evening is a somewhat illogical, futile, and unnecessary mission, and that the missioner must be either singularly old-fashioned and conventional—­or laughing in his sleeve at me.  No!” Mr. Prohack with a nineteenth century wave of the hand deprecated Ozzie’s interrupting protest.  “No!  There is a third alternative, and I accept it.  You desired to show me a courtesy.  I thank you.”

“But have you no questions to ask me?” demanded Ozzie.

“Yes,” said Mr. Prohack.  “How did you first make the acquaintance of my daughter?”

“Do you mean to say you don’t know?  Hasn’t Sissie ever told you?”

“Never.  What is more, she has never mentioned your name in any conversation until somebody else had mentioned it.  Such is the result of my educational system, and the influence of the time-spirit.”

“Well, I’m dashed!” exclaimed Ozzie sincerely.

“I hope not, Morfey.  I hope not, if by dashed you mean ‘damned.’”

“But it was the most wonderful meeting, Mr. Prohack,” Ozzie burst out, and he was in such an enthusiasm that he almost forgot to lisp.  “You knew I was in M.I. in the war, after my trench fever.”

“M.I., that is to say, Secret Service.”

“Yes.  Secret Service if you like.  Well, sir, I was doing some work in the East End, in a certain foreign community, and I had to get away quickly, and so I jumped into a motor-van that happened to be passing.  That van was driven by Sissie!”

“An example of fact imitating fiction!” remarked Mr. Prohack, seeking, not with complete success, to keep out of his voice the emotion engendered in him by Ozzie’s too brief recital.  “Now that’s one question, and you have answered it brilliantly.  My second and last question is this:  Are you in love with Sissie—­”

“Please, Mr. Prohack!” Ozzie half rose out of his chair.

“Or do you love her?  The two things are very different.”

“I beg your pardon, sir.  I hadn’t quite grasped,” said Ozzie apologetically, subsiding.  “I quite see what you mean.  I’m both.”

“You are a wonder!” Mr. Prohack murmured.

“Anyway, sir, I’m glad you don’t object to our engagement.”

“My dear Oswald,” said Mr. Prohack in a new tone.  “Do you imagine that after my daughter had expressed her view of you by kissing you I could fail to share that view.  You have a great opinion of Sissie, but I doubt whether your opinion of her is greater than mine.  We will now have a little whiskey together.”

Ozzie’s chubby face shone as in his agreeable agitation he searched for the eye-glass ribbon that was not there.

“Well, sir,” said he, beaming.  “This interview has not been at all like what I expected.”

“Nor like what I expected either,” said Mr. Prohack.  “But who can foresee the future?” And he added to himself:  “Could I foresee when I called this youth a perfect ass that in a very short time I should be receiving him, not unpleasantly, as a prospective son-in-law?  Life is marvellous.”