“Father,” she cried. At the sight of Max she stopped, hesitated, and then carried away by her excitement continued:
“Father—did you ever tell Russel how you proposed to Mother?”
“Why, let me see—yes, I think I did.”
Honoria groaned.
“Well, he tried to use it again on me.”
“What do you mean?”
“All these months I’ve been waiting—” she was almost in tears, “waiting to hear what he’d say. And then—when it came—it sounded familiar—as if I’d heard it before.”
“It’s probably one of my proposals,” suggested Van Camp. “I’ve used so many.”
She turned on him quickly.
“Do you mean to say you’ve ever proposed to any other girl but me?”
“Honoria—would you mind?”
“Mind. Of course I wouldn’t mind. I’d never speak to you again as long as I lived.”
“You say Codman proposed to you in the words I used to your mother?” demanded McComas.
“Exactly,” she wailed. “He knew them by heart.”
“That’s the trouble with him,” said McComas thoughtfully. “He always was my man and not his own. You’d better marry Max, here.”
“Why—” she looked from one to the other, “why—I never knew you liked Max, Father. You never showed it.”
“Well, that’s just the difference,” said her father, “between your way and mine.”
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