"My daughter, Mary; and--so--why shouldn't they--you know?"

"Really, John, I must ask you to be a little more explicit. It's no good
your addressing me in your business ciphers."

"Well--I mean--why shouldn't he marry her? Morris marry Mary? Is that
plain enough?" he asked in desperation.

For a moment a mist gathered before the Colonel's eyes. Here was
salvation indeed, if only it could be brought about. Oh! if only it
could be brought about.

But the dark eyes never changed, nor did a muscle move upon that pale,
commanding countenance.

"Morris marry Mary," he repeated, dwelling on the alliterative words
as though to convince himself that he had heard them aright. "That is a
very strange proposition, my dear John, and sudden, too. Why, they are
first cousins, and for that reason, I suppose, the thing never occurred
to me--till last night," he added to himself.

"Yes, I know, Colonel; but I am not certain that this first cousin
business isn't a bit exaggerated. The returns of the asylums seem to
show it, and I know my doctor, Sir Henry Andrews, says it's nonsense.
You'll admit that he is an authority. Also, it happened in my own
family, my father and mother were cousins, and we are none the worse."

On another occasion the Colonel might have been inclined to comment on
this statement--of course, most politely. Now, however, he let it pass.