When the two had sauntered off I said to Ethel,
“You’re a romantic soul with your griddle cakes. Don’t you see those two? In the language of the day, Ellery is stung.”
“Imagine him married.”
“It would be the finest thing for him that ever happened. He might amount to something with a wife to look after him.”
“It doesn’t always work,” said Ethel, saucily.
“Better four hundred a year where love is—” I began.
“Than a stalled ox and hatred therewith,” concluded Ethel.
“Something like that. Four hundred a year with love is a large order. She’d better wait until Ellery is famous. But perhaps we’d better not hurry them along. She’s interested in him because he has talent and is unrecognized, and he’s interested in her because he has talent and she recognized it, but I don’t believe but that you could buy him off with a mess of pottage—”
“Or some griddle cakes. There’s the bell now. You call them.”
I called “Breakfast’s ready,” although the two were out of sight, and my call was answered by an “Arl right. I’m just in time.”