"Yes, I suppose they would, unless he did come to care for her."
"Ah, you return to that hypothesis. I think it's an extremely fanciful one. No. She needn't marry A, but she must let B alone."
The philosopher closed his book, took off his glasses, wiped them, replaced them, and leaned back against the trunk of the apple tree. The girl picked a dandelion in pieces. After a long pause she asked:
"You think B's feelings wouldn't be at all likely to—to change?"
"That depends on the sort of man he is. But if he is an able man, with intellectual interests which engross him—a man who has chosen his path in life—a man to whom women's society is not a necessity——"
"He's just like that," said the girl, and she bit the head off a daisy.
"Then," said the philosopher, "I see not the least reason for supposing that his feelings will change."
"And would you advise her to marry the other—A?"
"Well, on the whole, I should. A is a good fellow (I think we made A a good fellow); he is a suitable match; his love for her is true and genuine——"
"It's tremendous!"