"You want keeping in order, Mr. Purnett," she said, smiling. "You ought to marry, and be obliged to spend your money on your wife."
She puzzled Bob. Because here she was, not married herself! He could not get away from that rigid and logical division of his—and of many other people's, such as Dennehy and the like.
"I'm not a marrying man. Heaven help the woman who married me!" he said, in whimsical sincerity.
She saw the sincerity and met it with a plump "Why?"
Bob was not good at analysis—of himself or other people (though he was making a rudimentary effort over Winnie). "The way a chap's built, I suppose."
"What a very conclusive sort of argument!" she laughed. "How's Godfrey built, Mr. Purnett?"
"Godfrey's all right. He'd settle down if he ever got married."
The theories came tumbling in through the open door. Cowardly theories, had they refused an opening like that!
"Well, isn't he?" asked Winnie, with dangerously rising colour.
Bob Purnett was a picture of shame and confusion.