“That will be unnecessary, and also impossible.  Whatever arrangements you make with me may be regarded as final.  My daughter will obey my wishes.”

“Not for mine!  I am not trying to marry any girl that isn’t just as keen for me as I am for her.  Why, I’ve seen her only twice.  Let me talk it over with her, and if she says yes, then you can look me up in Bradstreet and we’ll all know where we stand.”

“I am sorry, but it is absolutely contrary to our customs to permit a private interview between an unmarried woman and her suitor.”

“Whereas in our country it is the most customary thing in the world!  Now, why should we observe the customs of your country and disregard the customs of my country, which is about forty times as large and eighty times as important as your country?  Don’t be foolish!  I may be the means of pulling you out of a tight hole.  You go and send your daughter here to me.  Give me ten minutes with her.  I’ll state my case to her, straight from the shoulder, and, if she doesn’t give me a lot of encouragement, I’ll grab the first train back to Paris.  If she does give me any encouragement, then you’ll see what can be accomplished by a real live matrimonial agency.”

The Governor-General hesitated, but not for long.  The confident manner of the stranger had inspired him with the first courage that he had felt for many weeks and revived in him the long-slumbering hope that possibly there was somewhere in the world a desirable husband for Kalora.  He was about to violate an important rule, but there was no reason why any one on the outside should hear about it.

“This is most unusual,” he said.  “If I comply with your request, I must beg of you not to mention the fact of this interview to any one.  Remain here.”

He went away, and the young man waited minute after minute, pacing back and forth the length of the room, cutting nervous circles around the big office chairs, wiping his palms with his handkerchief and wondering if he had come on a fool’s errand or whether—­

He heard a rustle of soft garments, and turned.  There in the doorway stood a feminine full moon—­an elliptical young woman, with half of her pink and corpulent face showing above a gauzy veil, her two chubby hands clasped in front of her, the whole attitude one of massive shyness.

“I—­I beg pardon,” he said, staring at her in wonder.

She tried to speak, but was too much flustered.  He saw that she was smiling behind the veil, and then she came toward him, holding out her hand.  He took the hand, which felt almost squashy, and said: 

“I am very glad to meet you.”

Then there was a pause.

“Won’t you be seated?” he asked.

She sank into one of the leather chairs and looked up at him with a little simper, and there was another pause.

“I—­I never have seen you before, have I?” she asked, with a secretive attempt to take a good look at him.