“But dancing is not marriage.”
Aggett exposed his teeth. “Less difference than ye think,” he rapped out.
Having reached a stage of mental development at which virginity seemed an unjustifiable defiance of manhood, he delighted in the marriage of any woman he had known unmarried. He was satisfied by it as numberless people, who had no interest in legislation or in the constitution, were satisfied when the House of Lords had its wings clipped. He never refused an invitation to a wedding unless it was that of a widow.
Margaret was a girl the prospect of whose taming particularly pleased him.
“You mark my words,” he said. “She may jib the first time. But you stick to it—it won’t last long. If she tries to stand out, she’s got no one to talk to, not a soul to plot her little rebellion with. Ye soon get fed with rebellin’ alone. The girl don’t stand a chance.”
“Very pleasantly put to the prospective husband.... Incidentally, the father isn’t a brute.”
“How d’ye mean? Surely he’s fixed? You said he was fixed.”
“He might conceivably unfix. He can’t exert pressure beyond a certain point. What’s more, Aggett, I don’t want him to.”
“Now that’s generous of ye, that is—not ‘beyond a certain point.’ God! Ordith, old man, that’s you all over. But don’t ye see that there’s no goin’ back for Fane-Herbert now? It ain’t jus’ a pers’nal question. He’s got Ibble’s behind him.”
Ordith nodded. He reflected that he himself might have conducted this affair differently if Ordith’s had not been behind him.... And yet—well, it was no damned good to sentimentalize now. He called for more drink as a set-off to Aggett’s frequent generosity, settled himself in his chair, and, banishing misgiving as only the greatly successful men of this world can banish misgiving, allowed Aggett to talk.