"Ah, but which? If hours, I shall apologise, and then excuse myself by
saying that you must have come earlier than you intended. If minutes I
shall praise myself for being so exceedingly punctual."

"Minutes, then," said he. "I'll praise you instead. Praise is more
convincing if somebody else does it."

"Yes, but you aren't somebody else. Now be sensible. Have you done all
the things you told me you were going to do?"

"Yes."

Sylvia released her hands from his.

"Tell me, then," she said. "You've seen your father?"

There was no cloud on Michael's face. There was such sunlight where his
soul sat that no shadow could fall across it.

"Oh, yes, I saw him," he said.

He captured Sylvia's hand again.

"And what is more he saw me, so to speak," he said. "He realised that I
had an existence independent of him. I used to be a--a sort of clock to
him; he could put its hands to point to any hour he chose. Well, he has
realised--he has really--that I am ticking along on my own account.
He was quite respectful, not only to me, which doesn't matter, but to
you--which does." Michael laughed, as he plaited his fingers in with
hers.

"My father is so comic," he said, "and unlike most great humourists his
humour is absolutely unconscious. He was perfectly well aware that I
meant to marry you, for I told him that last Christmas, adding that you
did not mean to marry me. So since then I think he's got used to you.
Used to you--fancy getting used to you!"

"Especially since he had never seen me," said the girl.

"That makes it less odd. Getting used to you after seeing you would be
much more incredible. I was saying that in a way he had got used to
you, just as he's got used to my being a person, and not a clock on his
chimney-piece, and what seems to have made so much difference is what
Aunt Barbara told him last night, namely, that your mother was a Tracy.
Sylvia, don't let it be too much for you, but in a certain far-away
manner he realises that you are 'one of us.' Isn't he a comic? He's
going to make the best of you, it appears. To make the best of you! You
can't beat that, you know. In fact, he told me to ask if he might come
and pay his respects to your mother to-morrow.

"And what about my singing, my career?" she asked.

Michael laughed again.

"He was funny about that also," he said. "My father took it absolutely
for granted that having made this tremendous social advance, you
would bury your past, all but