"Go!" he cried, giving his prodigious handful a preparatory swing
in the air. Madame Dor said, "Mon Dieu," and vanished into the next
room, pursued by a shower of stockings.
"What must you think, Mr. Vendale," said Obenreizer, closing the door,
"of this deplorable intrusion of domestic details? For myself, I blush
at it. We are beginning the New Year as badly as possible; everything
has gone wrong to-night. Be seated, pray--and say, what may I offer you?
Shall we pay our best respects to another of your noble English
institutions? It is my study to be, what you call, jolly. I propose a
grog."
Vendale declined the grog with all needful respect for that noble
institution.
"I wish to speak to you on a subject in which I am deeply interested," he
said. "You must have observed, Mr. Obenreizer, that I have, from the
first, felt no ordinary admiration for your charming niece?"
"You are very good. In my niece's name, I thank you."
"Perhaps you may have noticed, latterly, that my admiration for Miss
Obenreizer has grown into a tenderer and deeper feeling--?"
"Shall we say friendship, Mr. Vendale?"
"Say love--and we shall be nearer to the truth."
Obenreizer started out of his chair. The faintly discernible beat, which
was his nearest approach to a change of colour, showed itself suddenly in
his cheeks.
"You are Miss Obenreizer's guardian," pursued Vendale. "I ask you to
confer upon me the greatest of all favours--I ask you to give me her hand
in marriage.
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