“Certainly, father,” answered the dutiful Morris; “I am at your service.” “Very good; then I will light my cigar, and we might take a stroll on the beach, that is, after I have seen the cook about the dinner to-night. Perhaps I shall find you presently by the steps.” “I will wait for you there,” answered Morris. And wait he did, for a considerable while, for the interview with the cook proved lengthy. Moreover, the Colonel was not a punctual person, or one who set an undue value upon his own or other people’s time. At length, just as Morris was growing weary of the pristine but enticing occupation of making ducks and drakes with flat pebbles, his father appeared. After “salutations,” as they say in the East, he wasted ten more minutes in abusing the cook, ending up with a direct appeal for his son’s estimate of her capacities. “She might be better and she might be worse,” answered Morris, judicially. “Quite so,” replied the Colonel, drily; “the remark is sound and applies to most things. At present, however, I think that she is worse; also I hate the sight of her fat red face. But bother the cook, why do you think so much about her; I have something else to say.” “I don’t think,” said Morris. “She doesn’t excite me one way or the other, except when she is late with my breakfast.” Then, as he expected, after the cook came the crisis. “You will remember, my dear boy,” began the Colonel, affectionately, “a little talk we had a while ago.” “Which one, father?” “The last of any importance, I believe. I refer to the occasion when you stopped out all night contemplating the sea; an incident which impressed it upon my memory.” Morris looked at him. Why was the old gentleman so inconveniently observant? “And doubtless you remember the subject?” “There were a good many subjects, father; they ranged from mortgages to matrimony.” “Quite so, to matrimony. Well, have you thought any more about it?” “Not particularly, father. Why should I?” “Confound it, Morris,” exclaimed the Colonel, losing patience; “don’t chop logic like a petty sessions lawyer. Let’s come to the point.” “That is my desire,” answered Morris; and quite clearly there rose up before him an inconsequent picture of his mother teaching him the Catechism many, many years ago. Thereat, as was customary with his mind when any memory of her touched it, his temper softened like iron beneath the influence of fire. “Very good, then what do you think of Mary as a wife?” “How should I know under the circumstances?” The Colonel fumed, and Morris added, “I beg your pardon, I understand what you mean.” Then his father came to the charge. “To be brief, will you marry her?” “Will she marry me?” asked Morris. “Isn’t she too sensible?” His father’s eye twinkled, but he restrained himself. This, he felt, was not an occasion upon which to indulge his powers of sarcasm.