"Except propose marriage to you!"
An ugly light came into her eyes. His shaft had gone in up to the feather; she spoke bitterly:
"Yes. He is not of the impressionable kind. I don't suppose any woman will ever get him."
"Odds on that, Amy, if you fail to bring him up to the scratch."
"But I can make him arrange for us to visit there. His sister thinks everything of him.... Masters won't go there."
"Don't be so sure of that."
"I am. He is one of those thin-skinned, sensitive sort of beasts. There has been some misunderstanding—probably of his own creation—which he counts on being able to wipe away. But he has never stayed there; we have. He goes year after year to rooms in the place; he'll put up at the same rooms again."
"Think so?"
"Am certain of it. I can read the man as easily—well, as easily as his books are read."
"Yes, he's read. A popular writer like that must be earning pots of money in royalties. Might be worth setting your cap at, Amy."