This young man, however, was no whit abashed. “I am, sir,” he said, confidently. “Maisie and I are made for each other!” he added, uttering the banality as though it were now for the first time new-minted for the lovers’ lexicon. “Really?--It is a happy chance, for certainly Maisie’s mother and myself omitted to take you into account when we----” “Father!” “--named her at the baptismal font,” he continued, equably. He had scored again. The young man was impervious. “Perhaps there are higher Powers than you, sir?” he ventured, with polite deference. “--Even if you are the editor of the _Daily Rostrum_!” added Maisie viciously. He resettled himself in his chair under this lively counter-attack. “Well, let us drop these witticisms,” he said with some asperity. “Come to business. Let’s hear your case, if you have one.” “Certainly, sir. I ask your permission to marry Maisie.” “I appreciate the courtesy. What is your income?” The young man hesitated. “Well--at present, sir----” “Nothing, I suppose?” He was still keeping his end up, was well-satisfied with the tartness of that question. He nearly smiled as he watched the young man wriggle. “I must confess, sir--but I have qualifications--and I am ambitious!” “All young men are ambitious,” he replied, oracularly. “Let us hear the qualifications!” “I graduated with honours at my university----” “Pooh! So did the man who sells my paper at the corner of the street!” “--and I have great hopes of getting a good job.” “Indeed!--Where?” “On your paper, sir!” He was staggered by the young man’s impudence. “My compliments!--But, as I unfortunately fail to share those hopes, I must regretfully refuse the permission you ask for!” He had only just managed to keep his temper. Maisie sailed forward to the attack. “But, Father, you have often told me that when you married Mother you were only a graduate with your first job on the _Rostrum_! We don’t mind struggling--we should _like_ to struggle--just as you did!” “Things were different then. That was a long time ago. In this year of nineteen forty-two life is much more difficult than when your mother and I were young.” “It only seems so to you because you have got old. It isn’t difficult to us young people!” said Maisie, smilingly positive. He winced under the unconscious cruelty of this remark. “Perhaps you will allow my experience to be the best judge,” he said, snappily. “In any case, I refuse my permission! The idea is ridiculous!--I do not think there is any more I need say, young man,” he concluded, making a movement to rise from his chair. Maisie pinned him down to it, both arms around him, kneeling at his side, her face--Betty’s young face!--looking up to him in winsome appeal.