Fine? J.L. thought, narrow would be more accurate. He was about to make an audible comment along those lines when Marge called them in to dinner.
All through the meal Marge fawned upon the young man, indulging the predatory instinct of a mother with a marriageable daughter.
With the clam bisque she told of Glory's childhood; the prettiest child in the neighborhood. With the pressed duckling she told of an army of suitors, each more desirable than the last, that Glory had discarded like week-old overcoats. And with the fresh tropical fruit supreme she praised the condition of matrimony with such fervor that J.L. could feel the warmth of a blush on his cheek.
When the young people left for the evening Marge sighed and said, "Don't they make a nice couple?"
"Have you lost your mind?" J.L. replied, with almost saintly restraint.
"Is something the matter, Dear?"
J.L. threw up his hands in despair. "Is something the matter, she asks. Why did you butter him up like that? Did you see his face? He looked like a dog being scratched behind the ear. If he proposes to Glory tonight it's your fault."
"Well, I think he'd make a fine son-in-law."
"That non-consumer? I'd sooner drop him from the helicopter," he said. He noticed she was smiling. "Don't laugh, Marge. This is serious. I'm going to have a good long talk with Glory when she gets home. I'll put a stop to this."
"Be careful what you say, Dear," she said.