"Here! This is—"
H. R. turned to him and said, "This is all right." And again he pressed his lips to hers and kept them pressed this time.
"I won't have it!" shrieked Mr. Goodchild, going toward the young people, one fist upraised.
H. R. ceased kissing, and spoke rebukingly:
"What do you want me to do? Kiss her in the vestibule before ringing the door-bell, as if we were plebeian sweethearts? Or in a taxi in the Park? Listen: Fear not to intrust your daughter to a man who never kisses her save in the sight of those who brought her into this world!" H. R. spoke so aphoristically that Mr. Goodchild thought it was a quotation from Ecclesiastes.
H. R. took the ring out of his waistcoat pocket and gave it to Grace.
"Here, my love!"
It was a magnificent green diamond, the rarest of all. Mrs. Goodchild rose quickly and said, "Let me see it!" Mother-like, being concerned with her only daughter's happiness, she took the ring to the window.
Grace followed. It was her ring.
"Say, Big Chief," H. R. asked his prospective father-in-law, "do I get the sand—do I get some slices of bread with some slices of viands, two breads to one viand, and a cup of tea?"