Willoughby soothed his Clara.

“I wish I had been here to share it.  I might have saved you some tears.  I may have been hasty in our little dissensions.  I will acknowledge that I have been.  My temper is often irascible.”

“And so is mine!” exclaimed Dr. Middleton.  “And yet I am not aware that I made the worse husband for it.  Nor do I rightly comprehend how a probably justly excitable temper can stand for a plea in mitigation of an attempt at an outrageous breach of faith.”

“The sermon is over, sir.”

“Reverberations!” the Rev. Doctor waved his arm placably.  “Take it for thunder heard remote.”

“Your hand, my love,” Willoughby murmured.

The hand was not put forth.

Dr. Middleton remarked the fact.  He walked to the window, and perceiving the pair in the same position when he faced about, he delivered a cough of admonition.

“It is cruel!” said Clara.

“That the owner of your hand should petition you for it?” inquired her father.

She sought refuge in a fit of tears.

Willoughby bent above her, mute.

“Is a scene that is hardly conceivable as a parent’s obligation once in a lustrum, to be repeated within the half hour?” shouted her father.

She drew up her shoulders and shook; let them fall and dropped her head.

“My dearest! your hand!” fluted Willoughby.

The hand surrendered; it was much like the icicle of a sudden thaw.

Willoughby squeezed it to his ribs.

Dr. Middleton marched up and down the room with his arms locked behind him.  The silence between the young people seemed to denounce his presence.

He said, cordially:  “Old Hiems has but to withdraw for buds to burst.  ‘Jam ver egelidos refert tepores.’  The equinoctial fury departs.  I will leave you for a term.”

Clara and Willoughby simultaneously raised their faces with opposing expressions.

“My girl!” Her father stood by her, laying gentle hand on her.

“Yes, papa, I will come out to you,” she replied to his apology for the rather heavy weight of his vocabulary, and smiled.

“No, sir, I beg you will remain,” said Willoughby.

“I keep you frost-bound.”

Clara did not deny it.

Willoughby emphatically did.

Then which of them was the more lover-like?  Dr. Middleton would for the moment have supposed his daughter.

Clara said:  “Shall you be on the lawn, papa?”

Willoughby interposed.  “Stay, sir; give us your blessing.”

“That you have.”  Dr. Middleton hastily motioned the paternal ceremony in outline.

“A few minutes, papa,” said Clara.

“Will she name the day?” came eagerly from Willoughby.

“I cannot!” Clara cried in extremity.

“The day is important on its arrival,” said her father; “but I apprehend the decision to be of the chief importance at present.  First prime your piece of artillery, my friend.”