“It is her father I am thinking of,” said Mrs Mitford, suddenly, with a sharp jarring sound of emotion in her voice. And so it was; but not entirely that. She seized upon the only feasible objection that occurred to her to cover her general consternation and sense of dismay. “Yes, to be sure,” said Dr Mitford. “John, I wish you had spoken to Mr Crediton first. I shall explain to him that I knew nothing about it--nothing at all till the last moment. I fear you have taken away from me even the power of pleading your cause; though, Miss Kate,” he said, rising, and going up to her with the urbanity which was so becoming to him, “if you had no fortune, I should take the liberty to kiss you, and tell you my son had made a charming choice.” “Then kiss me now,” said Kate, suddenly detaching herself from John, and holding out her hands to his father. Dr Mitford gave a little irresolute glance behind him to see what his wife was thinking; and then after a moment’s hesitation, melted by the pretty face lifted to him, by the fortune which he had thus set forward as a drawback to her, and by the mingled sentiment, false and true, of the occasion, took her hands into his and bent over her and kissed her forehead. “My dear,” he said, with effusion, “I could not have hoped for so sweet a daughter-in-law. You would be as welcome to me as the flowers in May.” And then Dr Mitford paused, and the puckers came back to his forehead, and he turned round on his heel as on a pivot, and faced his son. “But don’t for a moment suppose, John, that I can approve of _you_. I will not adopt your cause with Mr Crediton. Good heavens! he might think it was a scheme. He might think----” “_That_ he could never think,” said Mrs Mitford, not able to restrain her impatience. “He may be angry, and blame everybody, and do away with it--but he could not think that.”