“We did hear that you were a little out of sorts.”

“Out of sorts!  I don’t know what you call out of sorts.  I have not been out of this room for well-nigh a month.  My sister came to see me one day, and that’s the last Christian I’ve seen.”

“My mother would be over daily if she fancied you’d like it.”

“She has her own duties, and I don’t want to be troublesome.”

“The truth is, Uncle Prosper, that we have all felt that we have been in your black books; and as we have not thought that we deserved it, there has been a little coolness.”

“I told your mother that I was willing to forgive you.”

“Forgive me what?  A fellow does not care to be forgiven when he has done nothing.  But if you’ll only say that by-gones shall be by-gones quite past I’ll take it so.”  He could not give up his position as head of the family so easily,—­an injured head of the family.  And yet he was anxious that by-gones should be by-gones, if only the young man would not be so jaunty, as he stood there by his arm-chair.  “Just say the word, and the girls shall come up and see you as they used to do.”  Mr. Prosper thought at the moment that one of the girls was going to marry Joe Thoroughbung, and that he would not wish to see her.  “As for myself, if I’ve been in any way negligent, I can only say that I did not intend it.  I do not like to say more, because it would seem as though I were asking you for money.”

“I don’t know why you shouldn’t ask me.”

“A man doesn’t like to do that.  But I’d tell you of everything if you’d only let me.”

“What is there to tell?” said Uncle Prosper, knowing well that the love-story would be communicated to him.

“I’ve got myself engaged to marry a young woman.”

“A young woman!”

“Yes;—­she’s a young woman, of course; but she’s a young lady as well.  You know her name:  it is Florence Mountjoy.”

“That is the young lady that I’ve heard of.  Was there not some other gentleman attached to her?”

“There was;—­her cousin, Mountjoy Scarborough.”

“His father wrote to me.”

“His father is the meanest fellow I ever met.”

“And he himself came to me,—­down here.  They were fighting your battle for you.”

“I’m much obliged to them.  For I have even interfered with him about the lady.”

Then Harry had to repeat his veni, vidi, vici after his own fashion.  “Of course I interfered with him.  How is a fellow to help himself?  We both of us were spooning on the same girl, and of course she had to decide it.”

“And she decided for you?”

“I fancy she did.  At any rate I decided for her, and I mean to have her.”