Mrs. Pennington’s pretty shoulders gave an expressive shrug.
“Marry, my dear. Nothing defines one’s sex so accurately. Marry for love if you can, marry for money if you must, but marry just the same. You may be unhappy, but you’ll never be bored.”
Nina Jaffray gazed long into the fire.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “That’s what I came to see you about.”
“Oh, Nina, I’m delighted!” cried Nellie Pennington genuinely, “and so flattered. Who, my dear child?”
“I’ve been thinking—seriously.”
“You must have had dozens of offers.”
“Oh, yes, from fortune hunters and gentlemen jockeys, but I’m not a philanthropic institution. Curiously enough my taste is quite conventional. I want a New Yorker—a man with a mind—with a future, perhaps, neither a prig nor a rake—human enough not to be too good, decent enough not to be burdensome—a man with weaknesses, if you like, a poor man, perhaps——”
“Nina. Who?”
Miss Jaffray paused.