‘Strange house this,’ said Joseph Atlee, as Nina entered the room the next morning where he sat alone at breakfast. ‘Lord Kilgobbin and Dick were here a moment ago, and disappeared suddenly; Miss Kearney for an instant, and also left as abruptly; and now you have come, I most earnestly hope not to fly away in the same fashion.’
‘No; I mean to eat my breakfast, and so far to keep you company.’
‘I thank the tea-urn for my good fortune,’ said he solemnly.
‘A tête-à-tête with Mr. Atlee is a piece of good-luck,’ said Nina, as she sat down. ‘Has anything occurred to call our hosts away?’
‘In a house like this,’ said he jocularly, ‘where people are marrying or giving in marriage at every turn, what may not happen? It may be a question of the settlement, or the bridecake, or white satin “slip”—if that’s the name for it—the orange-flowers, or the choice of the best man—who knows?’
‘You seem to know the whole bead-roll of wedding incidents.’
‘It is a dull répertoire after all, for whether the piece be melodrama, farce, genteel comedy, or harrowing tragedy, it has to be played by the same actors.’
‘What would you have—marriages cannot be all alike. There must be many marriages for things besides love: for ambition, for interest, for money, for convenience.’
‘Convenience is exactly the phrase I wanted and could not catch.’
‘It is not the word I wanted, nor do I think we mean the same thing by it.’