"Well, Peter," began Mrs. Higginbotham, "I must confess that I have always wished that I had had in my youth a devoted lover who should be something of a hero."
"Quite so, quite so," assented Mr. Binney with an energetic nod. "I shall do my best to be that, my very best."
"One," continued Mrs. Higginbotham, "whom I could admire for—er—manliness and—er—light-heartedness, and—er—beauty, both of form and feature."
"Exactly so," nodded her wooer.
"One who would regard me as the most beautiful—er—female in the world; not that I should be that, of course, but I should like him to think so."
"Of course, of course," said Mr. Binney. "Quite natural."
"And who would try to make little opportunities of meeting me, and being where I was."
"Exactly," said Mr. Binney, who had been admitted into Mrs. Higginbotham's house any time these last twenty years whenever he liked to present himself.
"Whose heart would beat quicker when he did see me, and who would be quite rewarded for any trouble he might have taken over the matter by seeing me."
"I quite see, ma'am, I quite see," said Mr. Binney. "The truth of it is, you want to renew your youth, I take it. Not that it requires much renewing," he added gallantly.