“Yes, father,” she responded charmingly to his wily ingratiatingness, and sat down.

“If you were the ordinary girl,” he began, “I shouldn’t say a word.  It would be no use.  But you aren’t.  And I flatter myself I’m not the ordinary father.  You are in love.  Or you think you are.  Which is the same thing—­for the present.  It’s a fine thing to be in love.  I’m quite serious.  I like you tremendously just for being in love.  Yes, I do.  Now I know something about being in love.  You’ve got enough imagination to realise that, and I want you to realise it.  I want you to realise that I know a bit more about love than you do.  Stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, father,” said Sissie, placidly respectful.

“Love has got one drawback.  It very gravely impairs the critical faculty.  You think you can judge our friend Oswald with perfect impartiality.  You think you see him as he is.  But if you will exercise your imagination you will admit that you can’t.  You perceive that, don’t you?”

“Quite, dad,” the adorable child concurred.

“Well, do you know anything about him, really?”

“Not much, father.”

“Neither do I. I’ve nothing whatever against him.  But I shouldn’t be playing straight with you if I didn’t tell you that at the club he’s not greatly admired.  And a club is a very good judge of a man, the best judge of a man.  And then as regards his business.  Supposing you were not in love with him, should you like his business?  You wouldn’t.  Naturally.  There are other things, but I won’t discuss them now.  All I suggest to you is that you should go a bit slow.  Exercise caution.  Control yourself.  Test him a little.  If you and I weren’t the greatest pals I shouldn’t be such an ass as to talk in this strain to you.  But I know you won’t misunderstand me.  I know you know there’s absolutely no conventional nonsense about me, just as I know there’s absolutely no conventional nonsense about you.  I’m perfectly aware that the old can’t teach the young, and that oftener than not the young are right and the old wrong.  But it’s not a question of old and young between you and me.  It’s a question of two friends—­that’s all.”

“Dad,” said she, “you’re the most wonderful dad that ever was.  Oh!  If everybody would talk like that!”

“Not at all!  Not at all!” he deprecated, delighted with himself and her.  “I’m simply telling you what you know already.  I needn’t say any more.  You’ll do exactly as you think best, and whatever you do will please me.  I don’t want you to be happy in my way—­I want you to be happy in your own way.  Possibly you’ll decide to tell Mr. Morfey to wait for three months.”

“I most decidedly shall, dad,” Sissie interrupted him, “and I’m most frightfully obliged to you.”

He had always held that she was a marvellous girl, and here was the proof.  He had spoken with the perfection of tact and sympathy and wisdom, but his success astonished him.  At this point he perceived that Sissie was not really sitting in the chair at all and that the chair was empty.  So that the exhibition of sagacity had been entirely wasted.