"Egypt would be such a nice place in which to spend the honeymoon," said Mother.
Little recked the Powers, however, of the Homeric struggle that was being waged within the precincts of the immaculate braided morning coat that sat so perfectly upon the manly form of Mr. Philip.
Do if you Dare, said the Twin Brethren.
Don't be a Cur, said the Green Chartreuse.
And as no young man likes to be thought a Cur by a boon companion, the miserable yet half-exultant Philip gathered his forces for the conflict.
"There's something, Father, I'd like to say," said he, as he performed the superfluous action of tucking the end of his handkerchief still further up his shirt-*sleeve.
Perfect frankness was invited.
"I would like to say," said the young man, "that I don't feel that I can marry Adela."
The timepiece with the silver tones had the only speaking part for the space of ninety seconds. And then out spoke Mother.
"Phil-ipp!"
"Can't—possibly—Mater."
"Phil-ipp!"
And all this time the benevolent autocrat, who had put on his eyeglasses and taken them off again, and then put them on again, was trying to recapture the touch
