“That’s bad.”
“Seen anybody?”
“Only Miss Cleethorpe.”
“She’s a fine woman. I think I shall marry her. She’s twenty years older than I am, but that is just about enough to bring a woman within reach of an artist.”
“But——”
“Oh! she began it. We’ve already been down to her cottage in the country—I like that too. You’ll have to fork out for a wedding present.”
“I’ll cancel your debts. But, are you really?”
“Fourmy,” said Kilner, “you’re an incorrigible romantic. I’m a realist, and like love’s young dream to remain a dream. Life is a long, slow, dreary business, and I want a woman I can live with. . . .”
“Did you say that to Lotta?”