on friendly terms with my father?"

"Yes."

Mr. Nugent gazed at him round-eyed. "You haven't had a blow on the head
or anything of that sort at any time, have you?" he inquired.

Hardy shook his head impatiently. "You don't seem to suffer from an
excess of intellect yourself," he retorted. "I don't want to be
offensive again, still, I should think it is pretty plain there is only
one reason why I should go out of my way to seek the society of your
father."

"Say what you like about my intellect," replied the dutiful son, "but I
can't think of even one--not even a small one. Not--Good gracious! You
don't mean--you can't mean--"

Hardy looked at him.

"Not that," said Mr. Nugent, whose intellect had suddenly become
painfully acute--"not her?"

"Why not?" inquired the other.

Mr. Nugent leaned back in his chair and regarded him with an air of
kindly interest. "Well, there's no need for you to worry about my father
for that," he said; "he would raise no objection."

"Eh?" said Hardy, starting up from his chair.