“I have it on the best authority,” insisted Mrs. Portheris blandly.  “You American parents are so seldom consulted in these matters.  Perhaps the young people have not told you.”

This was a nasty one for both the family and the Republic, and I heard the Senator’s rejoinder with satisfaction.

“We don’t consider, in the United States, that we’re the natural bullies of our children because we happen to be a little older than they are,” he said, “but for all that we’re not in the habit of hearing much news about them from outsiders.  I’ll have to get you to promise not to go spreading such nonsense around, Aunt Caroline.”

“Oh, of course, if you say so, but I should be better satisfied if she denied it herself,” said Mrs. Portheris with suavity.  “My information was so very exact.”

I had slumbered again, but it did not avail me.  I heard the American mail dispersing itself about the deck in all directions as the Senator rose, strode towards my chair, and shook me much more vigorously than there was any necessity for.

“Here’s Aunt Caroline,” he said, “wanting us to believe that you and Dicky Dod are engaged—­you two that have quarrelled as naturally as brother and sister ever since you were born.  I guess you can tell her whether it’s very likely!”

I yawned, to gain time, but the widest yawn will not cover more than two seconds.

“What an extraordinary question!” I said.  It sounds weak, but that was the way one felt.

“Don’t prevaricate, Mamie, love,” said Mrs. Portheris sternly.

“I’m not—­I don’t.  But n-nothing of the kind is announced, is it?” I was growing nervous under the Senatorial eye.

“Nothing of the kind exists,” said poppa, the Doge all over, except his umbrella.  “Does it?”

“Why no,” I said.  “Dicky and I aren’t engaged.  But we have an understanding.”

I was extremely sorry.  Mrs. Portheris was so triumphant, and poppa allowed his irritation to get so much the better of him.

“Oh,” he said, “you’ve got an understanding!  Well, you’ve been too intelligent, darned if you haven’t!” The Senator pulled his beard in his most uncompromising manner.  “Now you can understand something more.  I’m not going to have it.  You haven’t got my consent and you’re not going to get it.”

“But, my dear nephew, the match is so suitable in every respect!  Surely you would not stand in the way of a daughter’s happiness when both character and position—­position in Chicago, of course, but still—­are assured!”

Poppa paused, uncertain for an instant whether to turn his wrath upon his aunt, and that, of course, was my opportunity to plead with my angry parent.  But the knowledge that the hopes which poppa was reducing to dust and ashes were fervently fixed on a floral hat and a yellow bun over which he had no control, on the other side of the ship, overcame me, and I looked at Bellagio to hide my emotions instead, in a way which they might interpret as obstinate, if they liked.