Charlie ignored this point.
“And yet you wanted, to marry her?”
“I dare say I was an ass—like better men before me and—er—since me.”
“Hang it!” cried Charlie. “I’m sick of the whole thing. I’m sick of life. I’m sick of all the nonsense of it. For two straws I’d have done with it, and marry Millie Bushell.”
“What! Look here, Charlie—”
Calder left his sentence unfinished.
“Well?” said Charlie.
“If,” said Calder slowly, “there are any girls, either down here or in London, whom you’re quite sure you’ll never want to marry, I should like to be introduced to one of ‘em, Charlie, if you’ve no objections.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, in fact, during this last week, Charlie, I have come to have a great esteem for Miss Bushell. There’s about her a something—a solidity—-”