“That is nonsense, my dear,” said he in a pleasant, soothing tone--the tone that suggests a large toleration for human weaknesses, especially those of a girl, because so few of them are worth talking about. “You must not worry yourself, my dear. You will have worries enough when you are married, if I know anything about what marriage means. Now take my advice and have a good dose of bromide and get into bed. Don’t get up early. Had you a touch of the sun when you were up the river?” “He will not listen to me! He treats me as if I were a child--a sick child!” cried Josephine piteously. The reproach annoyed him. “You are behaving as such,” he said. “I am anxious to make every allowance for you, but when you talk in this wild fashion--why did you not stop me yesterday when I told you that I had given my consent to your engagement?” “I did not know what to say--I was overcome with surprise.” “Do you mean to tell me that he--Clifton--left you the last time he was with you before you went up the river, under the impression that you and he were no longer engaged?” “I cannot say what his impression was--I asked him to release me on that very day.” “What reason did you put forward for making such a request?” “I said that--that I felt that I was doing wrong in remaining engaged to him in secret--without your consent.” “You were quite right. But you see I have removed the cause--the legitimate cause of your self-reproach. The consequence is that you are engaged to him, if I know anything of logic and reason.” “Oh, logic and reason! I am only a woman, God help me!” “My dear girl, to be a woman is to be a very charming thing, if a bit unreasonable at times. You are the slaves to your nerves. And these days--what does the poet say? ‘It was the time of roses’--ah, neurosis, he would have written to-day--‘and we plucked them as we passed.’” She had risen. “I am going to bed,” she said. “Good-night.” “You couldn’t do better, my dear. Good-night and God bless you! Don’t neglect the bro--by the way, I should perhaps mention to you that even if I were inclined to accept your protest now it would be too late--I should be powerless to do anything, for the announcement is already gone to the papers.” “What--you have sent it to the papers?” “Of course I have--that is to say, Clare has sent it.” (Julian Clare was Mr. West’s private secretary.) “It was necessary for it to appear without delay. It will increase the interest in your father--there is always a sort of reflected glory upon the father of a beautiful girl who is about to be married. We cannot fly in the face of Providence and the papers at the present moment. The present moment is critical for the house of West.” “You are going into the Cabinet,” she said. “That represents the highest height of your ambition.”