"Much; when you show me a man who doesn't care for public opinion, I'll show you one who ought to be in jail."
"Fudge! Please don't try to hide behind platitudes. But about Gertrude, and your little affair, which is no affair; what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing; there is nothing at all to be done," Brockway replied with gloomy emphasis.
"I suppose nothing would ever induce you to forgive her for being rich?"
"I can never quite forgive myself for being poor, since it's going to cost me so much."
"You are too equivocal for any use. Answer my question," snapped the small inquisitor.
"How can I?" Brockway inquired, with masculine density. "Forgiveness implies an injury, and——"
"Oh, oh—how stupid you can be when you try! You know perfectly well what I mean."
"I'm not sure that I do," said Brockway, whose wit was easily confounded by a sharp tongue.
"Then I'll put it in words of one syllable. Do you mean to ask Miss Vennor to be your wife?"