"Surely you meant me to," she said. "Whenever I looked up, meaning to go, I always thought I saw you pinning me down again. Did you not?"
Mrs. Brereton was not quite sure that things were going comfortably.
"I don't know what you mean by pinning you down," she said; "but it is, of course, perfectly true that I wanted you to get better acquainted with him. I am sure, Maud, you are a very lucky girl."
The lucky girl put up her parasol; her face was absolutely immobile except for the least curl at the corner of her mouth, which might have expressed almost anything—fatigue, indifference, anything.
"Then he has made formal proposals?" she asked. "His mother wrote to me asking if I sanctioned his doing so."
"You said yes, I suppose?"
"Naturally I should not forbid it, considering, as I do, that it is an admirable match for you. The young man is amiable, quite without vices I should think (which, after all, is most important, as so many marriages are wrecked that way). He is shrewd and clever, quite his father's son, and he is immensely wealthy."
"Those are all very good qualities," said Maud.
"My dear, of course they are. In bare justice to myself, I must say that, when I recommend a thing, I do so not on vague grounds, but on well-defined and cogent reasoning. Or perhaps you would prefer a husband who is a sot, a fool, and a pauper? You could easily find one of those without any great trouble."