On the other hand, there is some news which Aunt Caroline does not know.  Owing to your embargo on letters, I have not been able to inform my Aunt of the progress of my book, nor of my discovery of the perfect secretary.  I have not, in short, been able to tell her anything.

So you will have to do it for me.

But first, as man to man, I want to ask you a question.  Having found, by an extraordinary turn of luck, the perfect secretary, would you consider me sane if I let her go?  Of course you would not.  I asked myself the same question yesterday and received the same answer.

So I have asked her to marry me.

I put it that way because I know you like to have things broken to you.  And now, having heard all your objections (oh, yes, I can hear them.  Distance is only an idea) I shall proceed to answer them.—­

No.  It is not unwise to marry a young girl whom I scarcely know.  Why man!  That is part of the game.  Think of the boredom of having to live with some one you know?  Someone in whose house of life you need expect no odd corners, no unlooked for turnings, no steps up, or down, no windows with a view?  Only a madman would face such monotony.

No.  It is not unfair to the other party.  The other party has a mind and is quite capable of making it up.  She will not marry me unless she jolly well wants to.  Far more than most people, I think, she has the gift of decision.  Neither is it as if what I have to offer her were not bona fide.  Take me on my merits and I’m not a bad chap.  My life may have been tame but it has been clean. (Only don’t tell Aunt Caroline).  I have a sufficiency of money.  What I promise, I shall perform.  And as for ancestors—­Well, I refer everyone to Aunt Caroline for ancestors.  If Miss Desire marries me she will receive all that is in the bond and any little frills which I may be able to slip in. (There will not be many frills, though, for my lady is proud.)

Yes.  Aunt Caroline will make a fuss.  I trust you will bear up under it for my sake.  I think it will be well for her to learn of my marriage sufficiently long before our return to insure resignation, at least, upon our arrival.  After the storm the calm, and although, with my dear Aunt, the calm is almost the more devastating, I trust you will acquit yourself with fortitude.

And now we come to the only valid objection, which you have, strong-mindedly, left until the last—­my prospective father-in-law!  He is a very objectionable old party, and I do not mind your saying so.  But one simply can’t have everything.  And Bainbridge is a long way from Vancouver.  Also, as a husband I can take precedence, and, by George, I’ll do it!  So you see your objection is really an extra inducement.  It is only by marrying the daughter of Dr. Farr that I can protect Dr. Farr’s daughter.