“How old is the individual?”
“About three-and-twenty, I think. He had ten thousand pounds of his own when he came of age.”
“Wherewith he has purchased experience. He must be rich in that article.”
“I’m afraid he is; but I confess I like him. I don’t think he would be a bad husband. I believe his oats are sown.”
“I can, of course, have no opinion; but the situation is an interesting one.”
They turned about, and walked a stretch of the lawn in silence.
“I wish it were over,” Isabel said with a sigh. “I wish the poor girl had a good husband and all were well settled. I am tired of playing the farce.”
“You look forward with—with equanimity?” Robert said hesitatingly, with a glance at her face.
“More, with eagerness. I want to throw off a weight. I shall be the happiest woman in England.”
“On three hundred a year, cousin Isabel?” ventured Asquith.