"Not in Washington," said I.
"No, not so many in Washington; though more and more all the time. Miss Talltowers, will you marry me?"
It was just like that—no warning, not a touch of sentiment toward me. I almost dropped my pen. But I managed to hide myself pretty well. I simply went on with my note, finished it, sealed and addressed it, and rang for a servant. Then I went and stood by the fire. The servant came; I gave him the note and went into my office. I had been in there perhaps ten minutes when he came, looking shy and sheepish. He stumbled over a low chair and had a ridiculous time saving himself from falling. When he finally had himself straightened up and shaken together he stood with his hands behind him, and his face red, and his eyes down, and with his mouth fixed in that foolish little way as if he were about to speak with his fancy-work way of handling his words.
"Do you wish something?" I asked.
"Only—only my answer," said he humbly.
Would you believe it, I actually hesitated.
"I want a woman that doesn't like me for my money, and that at the same time would know how to act and would be—be sensible. I've had you in mind ever since you explained your system for—for"—he smiled faintly—"exploiting mother and father. And mother has been talking in the same way of late. She says we can't afford to let you get out of the family. That's all, I guess—all you'd have patience to hear."
"Then you were making me a serious business proposition?" said I.
"Well, you might call it that," he admitted, as if he weren't altogether satisfied with my way of summing it up.
"I'm much obliged, but it doesn't attract me," I said.