“Bless you, John,” I said, “such good things are not for me. Why, I’m nearer fifty than you’d guess, and a confirmed bachelor, sir!”
“What’s your opinion of Primrose?” he asked abruptly.
Primrose was his sister. I think I never heard of a woman with a more unsuitable name. It made me uncomfortable to observe how Robinson thus coupled the suggestion of my taking a wife with this question as to my opinion of his sister.
“You are fortunate to have such a sister,” I said.
You cannot tell the truth to a comparative stranger about his sister, unless the truth is polite.
“I’m glad you think so,” answered Robinson. “I happen to know she entertains a very genuine admiration for you. She marvelled only yesterday at tea that no woman had ever won you. She said you must have made a good many hearts ache in your time.”
As a matter of fact I was refused, unconditionally, by a stock-jobber’s second daughter when I was thirty-two, and that is the only glimmer of romance which ever crossed my path. But I did not tell Robinson this. I merely said that his sister was a kind soul.
“Can you picture her a wife?” asked Robinson.
“Very easily,” I answered, which was untrue.
“Can you picture her your wife?” asked Robinson.