"You are not in love with me, of course," continued the practical Miss Vereker, ticking off the unassailable features of the case. "At least, I suppose not--I don't see how you possibly could be. It's rather hard for me to tell, though, because I don't quite know the meaning of the word. I love Dad and the boys, and Cilly, and Nicky, and Mr Dawks--_don't_ I, Dawks, dear?--and I would do _anything_ to save them pain or unhappiness. But I suppose that's not the sort of love that people call love. It seems to have been left out of my composition, or perhaps it hasn't cropped up yet. Now Cilly--I am her exact opposite--Cilly is always in love with some man or other. By the way, she told me last night when I went to dry her hair that she had just fallen in love with you, so evidently you aren't too old after all! Would it do as well if you married Cilly?" Daphne inquired tentatively. "I'm afraid not," said Juggernaut. "Well, perhaps you are right. Cilly's a darling, but she is very young yet," agreed the time-worn Miss Vereker. "But"--she broke off short--"it seems to me that I am doing most of the talking. Would you care to address the meeting--say a few words? I think I should like to hear a bit of that proposal after all. So far, all I know is that you want to marry me. And _that_ I got from Dad. Now--I'm listening!" Daphne leaned back in her big chair and smiled upon her suitor quite maternally. There was something pathetic in her childish freedom from embarrassment or constraint under circumstances which usually test the _sang-froid_ of man and maid alike. Perhaps Sir John was struck by this, for his eyes suddenly softened and the lines about his mouth relaxed. "You needn't say you love me, or anything like that, if you don't," supplemented Daphne. "I shall understand." Sir John's eyes resumed their normal appearance.