“How long have you known this particular Only One?”
“A year.”
“How long an interval elapsed between introduction and proposal?”
“A month.”
Mr. Burrow groaned.
“Abject surrender! No brave defense of your heart, no decently stern resistance! Why, Stoessel held Port Arthur a hundred days and more—though he was hungry!” After a momentary pause he inquired sternly, “If you proposed eleven months ago, why in thunder are you just now planning this abduction?”
Mr. Copewell blushed. “It took her some time to decide.”
“It didn’t take you long, poor creature!” Mr. Burrow studied a stick of sealing-wax with a judicially wrinkled brow. “Mind you,” he generously acceded, “I’m not censuring the young woman. It’s the female vocation to lure men. Can’t blame ’em. Can’t blame spiders for weaving filmy traps, but I am very, very sorry for flies and fools that rush in where angels fear the web.”
“I don’t need your sympathy. It’s merely crass ignorance,” snapped Mr. Copewell. “If you only knew her!”
“I don’t,” snapped Mr. Burrow back at him, “but I know her sex. I know that women differ from other birds of prey in only one particular and the distinction is in favor of the other birds of prey.”