"He'd take care of himself all right," Letitia's suitor observed confidently.
"Would he!" she replied. "I am not at all sure. Our menkind always seem to have gone on sowing their wild oats most vigorously after middle age. Of course, if Ada Honeywell would marry him, I might feel a little easier in my mind."
"Ada won't marry any one," Grantham declared, "and I am perfectly certain, if she were willing, your father wouldn't marry her. She's too boisterous."
"Poor woman!" Letitia sighed. "She's immensely rich, but, you see, she has no past—I mean no pedigree. I am afraid it's out of the question."
"I wish you would chuck rotting and marry me, Letitia," he begged. "There's a little house in Pont Street—suit us down to the ground."
Letitia found herself gazing over the tops of the more distant trees.
"We are going down to Mandeleys in a few days," she said presently. "I'll take myself seriously to task there. I suppose I must really want to be married only I don't know it. Don't be surprised if you get a telegram from me any day."
"I'd come down there myself, if I had an invitation," he suggested.
She shook her head.
"Charlie," she declared, "it couldn't be done. So far as I can see at present, unless some of the tenantry offer their services for nothing—and our tenantry aren't like that—we shall have to keep house with about half a dozen servants, which means of course, only opening a few rooms. As a matter of fact, we shan't be able to go at all, unless Mr. Thain pays his rent for Broomleys in advance."