“Why, you dear stupid old boy, what do you mean?”
“What I say, pet: had me valued. Then he said, ‘Well, he’s got no brains, and he’ll never do any good for himself if he is left alone; so I’ll make him a lord and give him an income.’”
“Oh, Harry, what nonsense!”
“And then, to help me on a bit farther when I had grown to years of indiscretion, she gave me, or is about to give me, the dearest and best and sweetest and most beautiful of little women to be my wife.”
Which was, of course, very stupid again; and more resulted, after which Artingale said quietly—
“Cynthy, dear, you believe in me thoroughly?”
“Thoroughly, Harry.”
“You know I love you with all my heart?”
“Yes, Harry,” she replied, with her hands in his.
“Then you will not think me strange if I say to you I don’t want to be married yet?”