"If you really mean to buy it as it stands, I should recommend you to make a bonfire of the contents," said Max presently, as they stood all together in the deep bay window of a room on the first floor that looked out upon the park, with a glimpse beyond of distant hills. "But the place itself is an absolute ruin. I can't imagine how you are going to patch it up."
"I think it can be done," Mordaunt said. He was staring out somewhat absently, and spoke as if his thoughts were wandering.
Both brother and sister glanced at him. Then, "When are you going to get married?" asked Max.
Mordaunt came out of his reverie. "That," he said deliberately, "has still to be decided."
"Who is going to decide? You or Chris?" Max lighted another cigarette and pitched the match, still burning, from the window.
"Oh, Max!" exclaimed Chris. "How dangerous! Look! There is Cinders sniffing along the terrace! He is sure to burn his nose!"
She was gone with the words, and Max, with a brief laugh, returned to the charge.
"I conclude the decision rests with her."
"Well?" said Mordaunt. He spoke curtly; perhaps he resented the boy's interference, or perhaps he had had enough of the subject for that day.
"Look here," said Max. "I know Chris. She will keep you dangling for the next ten years if you will put up with it. If you want to be married soon, you will have to assert yourself."