“We have been engaged for some time, father,” faltered Prince, “and Miss Summerson, hearing of it, advised that we should declare the fact to you and was so very kind as to attend on the present occasion.  Miss Jellyby is a young lady who deeply respects you, father.”

Mr. Turveydrop uttered a groan.

“No, pray don’t!  Pray don’t, father,” urged his son.  “Miss Jellyby is a young lady who deeply respects you, and our first desire is to consider your comfort.”

Mr. Turveydrop sobbed.

“No, pray don’t, father!” cried his son.

“Boy,” said Mr. Turveydrop, “it is well that your sainted mother is spared this pang.  Strike deep, and spare not.  Strike home, sir, strike home!”

“Pray don’t say so, father,” implored Prince, in tears.  “It goes to my heart.  I do assure you, father, that our first wish and intention is to consider your comfort.  Caroline and I do not forget our duty—­what is my duty is Caroline’s, as we have often said together—­and with your approval and consent, father, we will devote ourselves to making your life agreeable.”

“Strike home,” murmured Mr. Turveydrop.  “Strike home!” But he seemed to listen, I thought, too.

“My dear father,” returned Prince, “we well know what little comforts you are accustomed to and have a right to, and it will always be our study and our pride to provide those before anything.  If you will bless us with your approval and consent, father, we shall not think of being married until it is quite agreeable to you; and when we are married, we shall always make you—­of course—­ our first consideration.  You must ever be the head and master here, father; and we feel how truly unnatural it would be in us if we failed to know it or if we failed to exert ourselves in every possible way to please you.”

Mr. Turveydrop underwent a severe internal struggle and came upright on the sofa again with his cheeks puffing over his stiff cravat, a perfect model of parental deportment.

“My son!” said Mr. Turveydrop.  “My children!  I cannot resist your prayer.  Be happy!”

His benignity as he raised his future daughter-in-law and stretched out his hand to his son (who kissed it with affectionate respect and gratitude) was the most confusing sight I ever saw.

“My children,” said Mr. Turveydrop, paternally encircling Caddy with his left arm as she sat beside him, and putting his right hand gracefully on his hip.  “My son and daughter, your happiness shall be my care.  I will watch over you.  You shall always live with me”—­meaning, of course, I will always live with you—­“this house is henceforth as much yours as mine; consider it your home.  May you long live to share it with me!”

The power of his deportment was such that they really were as much overcome with thankfulness as if, instead of quartering himself upon them for the rest of his life, he were making some munificent sacrifice in their favour.