My pretty, tall Barbara! Let them say what they like, I am sure that somewhere--_somewhere_--you are pretty now! "If you write," says Algy, still laughing, but with more moderation, "I should advise you to depute me to make a fair copy of the letter; else, from the extreme ambiguity of your handwriting, he will most likely mistake your drift, and imagine that you are saying yes." "How do you know that I am not going to say yes ?" I ask, abruptly.
Rivers of additional scarlet are racing to my cheeks, over my forehead--in among the roots of my hair--all around and about my throat, but I stand, looking the assembled multitude full in the face, fairly, well, and boldly.
"Listen!" I continue, holding up my right hand in deprecation, "let me speak!--do not interrupt me!--Bobby, I know that he was at school with father--Algy, I know that he is forty-seven--all of you, I know that his hair is gray, and that there are crows'-feet about his eyes--but still--but still--" "Do you mean to say that you are _in love_ with him ?" breaks in Bobby, impressively.
Instances of enamored humanity have been rare in Bobby's experience.
With the exception of Toothless Jack, he has never had a near and familiar view of an authentic specimen.

I therefore see him now regarding me with a reverent interest, not unmixed with awe.
"I mean nothing so silly!" I answer, with lofty petulance.

"I am a great deal too old for any such nonsense!" "There I go with you," says Algy, not without grandeur.

"I believe that it is the greatest humbug out, and that it rarely occurs between the ages of sixteen and sixty." "Father's and mother's was a love-match," says Bobby, gravely.

"Did not Aunt Williams tell us that they used always to sit hand-in-hand before they were married ?" A shout of laughter at our parents' expense greets this piece of information.
"_All_ married people grow to hate one another after a bit," say I, comprehensively; "it is only a question of time." "But if you do not love him _now_, and if you are sure that you will hate him by-and-by," says Barbara, looking rather puzzled, "what makes you think of taking him ?" "It would be such a fine thing for all the family: I could give all the boys such a shove," say I, with homely shrewdness.
"They killed seven hundred head of game on his big day last year; I heard him tell father so," says Bobby, with his mouth watering.
"He has a moor in Scotland," throws in the Brat.
"He must ride a stone heavier than I do," says Algy, thoughtfully, "his horses would certainly carry me: I wonder would he give me a mount now and then ?" "I would have you _all_ staying with me _always_," I cry, warming with my theme, and beginning to dance, "all except father: he should come once a year for a week, if he was good, and _not at all_, if he was not." "What will you call him, Nancy ?" asks the Brat, inquisitively.