“Can’t tell you.”
Miss Gerald pondered on this answer. It would seem as if Bob had “hallucinations,” if nothing worse. He was possessed of the idea, no doubt, that he would go crazy within three weeks. He didn’t realize that the “deterioration,” she referred to, might have already begun. He looked normal enough, though, had the most normal-looking eyes. Could it be that he was acting? And if he was acting, why was he? That seemed incomprehensible. Anyhow, it couldn’t be a sense of responsibility that had “upset” Bob. She became sure of that now. He played a losing game with too much dash and brilliancy! Hadn’t she seen him at polo—hadn’t she held her breath and thrilled when he had “sailed in” and with irresistible vim snatched victory out of defeat? No; Bob wasn’t a “quitter.”
“So your father looks to you to support him?”
“So he said. The governor’s a bit of a joker though, you know. He may be only putting up a bluff to try me out.”
“What did he advise you to do?”
Bob shivered. “Matrimonial market.”
“You mean—?”
“Heiress.” Succinctly.
“Any particular one?”
“Dad did mention a name.”