“They’re a weariness of the flesh,” sighed Punch.
“—and my husband’s style must not be cramped. If you’ll give up your job, I’ll—I’ll marry you.”
Punch Fairfax sat up, open-mouthed.
“What an’ keep me?”
“I’ll settle two thousand a year on you. That’s twice what you earn.”
There was an electric silence.
Then Punch rose with a laugh.
“ ‘Clean, honest and sober,’ ” he said quietly. “I see that I should have added ‘respectable’: but, to tell you the truth, I——”
“Sit down, Punch, me lad,” said Athalia Choate. “Dismount and sit down. You’ve given the answer I wanted. Not that I really doubted, but—one likes to make sure.”
Fairfax regarded her thoughtfully. Then—