“It wasn’t her fault entirely,” Bobby returned. “The family made it so beastly uncomfortable for her. Now you see us in bulk you ought to be equal to grasping the situation. You see us at our amiable best; we aren’t often so agreeable. But even at our best we are a trifle heavy.”
“You are the lightest heavyweight I have ever encountered,” she replied, laughing.
“Oh! I don’t count. I’m a sort of changeling.” He brought his face suddenly close to hers. “I say,” he said confidentially, “look after Prue a bit, and help her to a spree occasionally. It’s been dull enough for her at home. She ought to have a fling now and again.”
Mrs Henry looked into his earnest eyes reflectively for a moment, and smiled.
“That will be all right,” she said. “I’ve been a rebel always. We’ll contrive between us to make things hum. You shall come along some day and see.”
“I can’t understand a man wishing to marry a girl who has shown that she isn’t keen,” he remarked.
Mrs Henry betrayed amusement.
“The average man’s vanity prevents him from realising her lack of eagerness,” she returned cynically.
“He attributes her reluctance to shyness or ignorance or any other incomprehensible feminine quality, seldom to non-appreciation of himself. It is just as well, perhaps; it makes things pleasanter. But don’t you think at this stage it would be advisable to admit the keenness?”
“Well, perhaps,” he allowed, and smiled in response to the laugh in her eyes. “Life is all a game of make-believe, after all. Look round, and behold! Every one affecting affability, and trying to appear as though this were a joyful occasion. There is as much real joy in a funeral. Uncle William is genuinely pleased anyhow. He has always feared that Prue would get Benjamin’s share of the spoil. There is more than a touch of the miser in the Graynor blood.”