"Let's be perfectly frank with each other, my dear. Here's a man who wants to marry you. He's well-born, cultivated, rich. His one child is a girl who adores you and whom you adore. The only thing against him is that he once committed a serious breach of decorum—"
"And that I don't love him—" interpolated Janet.
Cornelia blandly ignored the interruption.
"His letter shows," she went on, "that he is willing to make the most handsome amends, the only amends a man can make in a matter of this sort. What more do you ask?"
"I'm not asking him for amends. I simply want to be let alone."
"Araminta, let me beg you not to deceive yourself about the changing moral values we hear so much of nowadays. Has the price of virginity really gone down? Judged by the conversation of radicals and Outlaws, yes. Judged by the ticker of the matrimonial exchange, it is still pretty high. Bear that in mind, and remember that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."
"Do you mean to say," exclaimed Janet, in great astonishment, "that you, of all people, advise me to accept this offer?"
Her tone irritated Cornelia.
"Beggars can't be choosers," she began.
"They can remain beggars," replied Janet tersely.