"Yes," he replied, suddenly recollecting the object of his mission. "It's just that that I've come about. You see he's awfully conscientious, and when he's thought things over a bit, helped by my aunt's amiable suggestions, he'll come to the conclusion that he ought to marry you, you know—and so—well, he'll try to do it," he ended lamely, hoping she would see the point without further elucidation on his part.
She was quick to take him up.
"And you don't think that's just the best way for him to have a good time? Sour grapes—eh, my son?"
"No, no; only he's certain to propose to you."
"Supposing he has done so?"
"Well—did you accept him?"
"What do you think?" she asked.
"I don't quite see how you could—under the circumstances."
"Oh, he'd only had two bottles of champagne," she said, purposely misunderstanding him from pure joy of seeing him flounder.
"I didn't mean that," he went on. "But, anyway, his conscience will reassert itself, and he'll probably propose again this morning—ponderously."