Madame Dor rose, and set forth sideways on her journey from the stove to bed.  She dropped a stocking.  Vendale picked it up for her, and opened one of the folding-doors.  She advanced a step, and dropped three more stockings.  Vendale stooping to recover them as before, Obenreizer interfered with profuse apologies, and with a warning look at Madame Dor.  Madame Dor acknowledged the look by dropping the whole of the stockings in a heap, and then shuffling away panic-stricken from the scene of disaster.  Obenreizer swept up the complete collection fiercely in both hands.  “Go!” he cried, giving his prodigious handful a preparatory swing in the air.  Madame Dor said, “Mon Dieu,” and vanished into the next room, pursued by a shower of stockings.

“What must you think, Mr. Vendale,” said Obenreizer, closing the door, “of this deplorable intrusion of domestic details?  For myself, I blush at it.  We are beginning the New Year as badly as possible; everything has gone wrong to-night.  Be seated, pray—­and say, what may I offer you?  Shall we pay our best respects to another of your noble English institutions?  It is my study to be, what you call, jolly.  I propose a grog.”

Vendale declined the grog with all needful respect for that noble institution.

“I wish to speak to you on a subject in which I am deeply interested,” he said.  “You must have observed, Mr. Obenreizer, that I have, from the first, felt no ordinary admiration for your charming niece?”

“You are very good.  In my niece’s name, I thank you.”

“Perhaps you may have noticed, latterly, that my admiration for Miss Obenreizer has grown into a tenderer and deeper feeling—?”

“Shall we say friendship, Mr. Vendale?”

“Say love—­and we shall be nearer to the truth.”

Obenreizer started out of his chair.  The faintly discernible beat, which was his nearest approach to a change of colour, showed itself suddenly in his cheeks.

“You are Miss Obenreizer’s guardian,” pursued Vendale.  “I ask you to confer upon me the greatest of all favours—­I ask you to give me her hand in marriage.”

Obenreizer dropped back into his chair.  “Mr. Vendale,” he said, “you petrify me.”

“I will wait,” rejoined Vendale, “until you have recovered yourself.”

“One word before I recover myself.  You have said nothing about this to my niece?”

“I have opened my whole heart to your niece.  And I have reason to hope—­”

“What!” interposed Obenreizer.  “You have made a proposal to my niece, without first asking for my authority to pay your addresses to her?” He struck his hand on the table, and lost his hold over himself for the first time in Vendale’s experience of him.  “Sir!” he exclaimed, indignantly, “what sort of conduct is this?  As a man of honour, speaking to a man of honour, how can you justify it?”

“I can only justify it as one of our English institutions,” said Vendale quietly.  “You admire our English institutions.  I can’t honestly tell you, Mr. Obenreizer, that I regret what I have done.  I can only assure you that I have not acted in the matter with any intentional disrespect towards yourself.  This said, may I ask you to tell me plainly what objection you see to favouring my suit?”