“There’s no harm in—­a—­telling you,” Mr. Jarrott went on again, with that hesitancy Strange had begun to associate with important announcements, “that—­a—­Jenkins will be—­a—­taken into partnership.  You won’t—­a—­be taken into partnership—­a—­yet.  But you will have a good salary in New York.  I can—­a—­promise you that much.”

It was because he was unnerved that tears smarted in the young man’s eyes at the implications in these sentences.  He took his time before responding, the courtesies of the occasion being served as well by silence as by speech.

“I won’t try to thank you for all your kindness, sir,” he said, with a visible effort, “until I’ve told you something—­something that, very likely, you won’t approve of.  I’ve asked Miss Colfax to marry me, and she’s consented.”

The old man’s brows shot up incredulously.

“That’s odd,” he said, “because not half an hour ago she told my wife there was nothing whatever between you—­that you hadn’t even written to her since you went away.  Mrs. Jarrott only left this room as you rang the door-bell.”

“But it was after I rang the door-bell,” Strange stammered “that I—­I—­asked her.”

“Quick work,” was the old man’s only comment, but the muscles of his lips relaxed slowly, as if rusty from disuse, into one of his rare smiles.

With the assurance of this reception, Strange could afford to sit silent till Mr. Jarrott made some further sign.

“By the terms of her father’s will,” he explained some minutes later, “I’m her guardian and trustee.  She can’t marry without my consent till she comes of age.  I don’t say that in this instance I should—­a—­withhold my consent; but I should feel constrained to—­a—­give it with conditions.”

“If it’s anything I can fulfil, sir—­”

“No; it wouldn’t concern you so much as her.  She’s very young—­and in heart she’s younger than her age.  She knows nothing about men—­she can’t know—­and I dare say you’re the first young fellow who ever said anything to her about—­well, you understand what I mean.  Mind you, we’ve no objections to you whatever.  You are your own credentials; and we take them at their face value.  You tell me you’re an orphan, with no near relations, so that there couldn’t be any complications on that score.  Besides that, you’re—­a likely chap; and I don’t mind saying that—­a—­my ladies—­Mrs. Jarrott and my sister—­have taken rather a fancy to you.  It can’t do you any—­a—­harm to know as much as that.”

Strange murmurred his appreciation, and the old man went on.

“No; you’re all right.  But, as I said before, she’s very young, and if we married her to you out of hand we feel that we shouldn’t be giving her a fair show.  We think she ought to have a little more chance to look round her, so to speak.  In fact, she isn’t what ladies call ‘out.’  She’s scarcely ever seen a man, except through a window.  Consequently, we think we must send her back to New York, for a winter at any rate, and trot the procession before her.  My sister is to undertake it, and they’re to sail next week.  That won’t make so much difference to you now, as it would if you weren’t soon going to follow them.”