"It all went swimmingly," he continued in a tone of angry confidence.
"For five seconds I was the happiest man in the United States. I--I did
everything you said, you know, and I was dumfounded at my own success.
S-s-she loves me, Westoby."
I gazed inquiringly at the dress-suit case.
"We don't belong to any common Joneses. We're Connecticut Joneses. In
fact, we're the only Joneses--and the name is as dear to me, as sacred,
as I suppose that of Westoby is, perhaps, to you. And yet--and yet--do
you know what she actually said to me? Said to me, holding my hand, and,
and--that the only thing she didn't like about me was my _name_."
I contrived to get out, "Good heavens!" with the proper astonishment.
"I told her that Van Coort didn't strike me as being anything very
extra."
"Wouldn't it have been wiser to--?"
"Oh, for myself, I'd do anything in the world for her. But a fellow has
to show a little decent pride. A fellow owes something to his family,
doesn't he? As a man I love the ground she walks on; as a Jones--well,
if she feels like that about it--I told her she had better wait for a De
Montmorency.
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