He started and sat quite rigid, as if some paralysing thing had stung him. His lips repeated the word mechanically, as he stared before him:—
‘To marry?’
‘It is the common lot, you know,’ she murmured.
He made a desperate effort to steady his wits and his voice.
‘But you are so young.’
She gave a great sigh: ‘Heigho! it is age that lacks suitors.’
‘You have a suitor, Joan?’
‘My father says so.’
‘And you?’
‘What is there for me to say?’