“I’ don’t know anybody whose happiness I would want,” said Rose-Ann at last. “But—”
“But you hope to have something different, and very much better,” said Clive gently, as if speaking to a child.
“I suppose it’s foolish,” said Rose-Ann.
“I don’t see anything foolish about it,” said Felix defiantly. “What’s your objection to marriage?”
Clive turned upon him with mild surprise. “Is this the young man with whom I have had a number of luncheon discussions—in which, if I remember rightly, you spoke eloquently on this same subject?”
Rose-Ann turned to Felix inquiringly. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me your views of marriage, Felix,” she said.
Clive laughed. “That is what is known in fiction as a sardonic laugh,” he observed. “I trust you recognized it. I will repeat it for you: Ha, ha! Now, Mr. Fay, is your opportunity to explain to your prospective bride your views of marriage.”
Felix flushed. “As a matter of fact, Rose-Ann and I have discussed them,” he said.
“‘Relic of barbarism,’” quoted Clive with gentle malice.
“Of barbarism?” Rose-Ann repeated, puzzled.