“I see,” she answered pitilessly; “you admire women—some women, that is—for anything, everything, but matrimony. You said a few moments ago that you would never marry.”
“Did I?” he asked, almost penitently. “I had forgotten that I went so far. But, I assure you, I didn’t mean to imply, you know, that under certain circumstances and—don’t you see—if I got the promise of just the right woman, that I shouldn’t be very glad to give up my freedom, don’t you know; that is, if it was perfectly agreeable to her, of course.”
Mrs. Brevoort laughed outright, as they bowled down a long hill at the top of which the Strongs’ manor-house peeped above the trees.
“You are the most amusing man I know, Mr. Strong,” she exclaimed, as they reached the level road and moved forward more slowly. “If you were more consistent, you wouldn’t be half so much fun.”
The youth was not altogether pleased at her remark. He glanced at her searchingly.
“You may do me an injustice, Mrs. Brevoort,” he said firmly. “It is more than possible that I am more consistent than you suspect.”
“In what?” she asked, rather recklessly, looking up at him mischievously. The expression in his eyes caused her a pang of regret at the challenge she had made.
“In my ideas regarding matrimony, in my convictions as to the woman I should wish to marry,” he answered, meaningly. “Shall I explain?”
Mrs. Brevoort gave a questioning glance at his face and realized that he must not explain. She turned in her saddle, as if seeking the support of an ally at a crisis that must be averted at any cost.
“Why, where is Kate?” she cried, checking the speed of her wheel and gazing back eagerly along the road and up the hill that crept toward the manor-house.