“Are we really engaged?”
“Simple process, isn’t it? I guess we are.”
Miss Garwood dug a daintily shod foot into the sand. This was getting serious.
“But we ought to have papa’s consent first.”
“Well, I’ll take a run over to your town and tell him about it,” said Joe carelessly. “Matter of form, I suppose. I’ll look after that in a day or two.”
Miss Garwood laughed uneasily. “It’s plain that you don’t know him. I think you would better leave that to me—about our engagement, I mean. And meantime we won’t say anything about it to anybody.”
“I don’t like that,” said Joe frankly. Having made the plunge he was ready to stay in the water. “Why shouldn’t we announce it? Do you mean your father wouldn’t consent?”
“I doubt if he would, at first,” she replied, apparently with equal frankness. “You see he expects me—please don’t be offended—but he expects me to make what is called a good marriage.”
“Do you mean he expects you to marry for money?”
“No, not altogether. But money and social position are desirable.” Thus early she sought to provide an avenue of retreat.