“We need not concern ourselves with that. I like you very well, Richard, but there is just a little nonsense in your disposition which makes you turn everything to jest. I myself am of a more serious nature.”
“Then in that respect, we cannot be thought to be well-suited,” suggested Sir Richard.
“I do not consider the objection insuperable. The life you have chosen to lead up till now has not been such as to encourage serious reflection, after all. I dare say you may grow more dependable, for you do not want for sense. That, however, must be left to the future. At all events, I am not so unreasonable as to feel the difference in our natures to be an impassable barrier to marriage.”
“Melissa,” said Sir Richard, “will you tell me something?”
She looked up. “Pray, what do you wish me to tell you?”
“Have you ever been in love?” asked Sir Richard.
She coloured slightly. “No. From my observation, I am thankful that I have not. There is something excessively vulgar about persons under the sway of strong emotions. I do not say it is wrong, but I believe I have something more of fastidiousness than most, and I find such subjects extremely distasteful.”
“You do not,” Sir Richard drawled, “envisage the possibility of—er—falling in love at some future date?”
“My dear Richard! With whom, pray?”
“Shall we say with myself?”