"But I was obliged to marry somebody, daddy," cried the girl, petulantly. "And you saw how he used to admire me and be always coming." "Of course, my gal, but I didn't think it meant any more than lots more did." "But we just matched so nicely, daddy." "Humph!" in a regular bearish grunt. "And we did love one another so." "Yah! Sweetstuff! Well, it's done, and it can't be undone." "No, dad. I don't want it to be, and you won't when you get used to Syd. Now you're going to be a good loving old boy and say no more about it." "I dunno so much about that." "You'd better, dad." "Oh, had I?" "Yes; if you don't kiss me again and be friends I'll cry, and spoil everything I've got on, and won't go to the races." "You'd better!" "I will," cried the girl, with her eyes flashing, and her little cupid-bow-like mouth compressed in a look of determination. "No, I won't. I'll go into hysterics, and scream the house down. I'll make such a scene!" "You be quiet, you saucy hussy. There, it's the races, and I've got a lot of business to see to. But, look here, your place is along with your husband." "Well, that's where I'm going to be," said the girl, with a merry look. "I went over on my bike this morning and saw him." "Oh, that's where you were off to?" "Yes, and Syd's promised to be a good boy, and come over to see you to-day and have it out." "Oh, is he? Well, that's right, but I don't want him to-day. I'm too busy. Look ye here, though, my gal, I mean to see that you have your rights. You just wait till I get my young gentleman under my thumb. I'll give him the thumbscrew, and--" "Here he is!" cried the girl, joyfully; and with a frisk like a lamb in a May-field she danced to the boy, who hurried in breathlessly. "Oh, Syd, Syd, Syd!" The beauty of the dress was forgotten, as a pair of prettily plump arms were thrown round the young husband's neck, while, ignoring the big, ugly, scowling parent, the new arrival did his part in a very loving hug and an interchange of very warm, honey-moony kisses. The recipients were brought to their senses by a growl. "Well, that's a pretty performance in public, young people." "Public!" cried the girl. "Pooh! Only you, daddy, and you don't count." "Public-house," said Syd. "How d'ye do, Mr Simpkins?" "Never you mind how I do, nor how I don't, young gentleman. You and me's got to have a few words of a sort." "All right, Mr Simpkins," cried Syd, cheerfully, as he drew back to the full extent of his and his young wife's joined hands to inspect her in front, and, with the girl's aid, behind. "Lovely!" he whispered, and the girl flushed with delight, as she kept on tripping, posturing, and dancing, as if trying to draw her husband on into a pas de deux, or a pas de fascination in a ballet, he being apparently quite willing to join in and finish off with another embrace. "Drop it, Molly," cried the old man. "Now, sir, what have you got to say for yourself?"