“Doesn’t she?” said Aladdin, annoyingly.
“No, she doesn’t!” said Margaret, tartly. “She says she’s going to be a horse-breaker or a nurse, and all the while she kept making eyes at brother John, and he lost his poise entirely and smirked and blushed, and I shouldn’t wonder a bit if he’d made up his mind to marry her, and if he has he will—”
Aladdin caught at the gist of the last sentence. “Is that all that’s necessary?” he said. “Has a man only got to make up his mind to marry a certain girl?”
“It’s all brother John would have to do,” said Margaret, provokingly.
“Admitting that,” said Aladdin, “how about the other men?”
“Why,” said Margaret, “I suppose that if a man really and truly makes up his mind to get the girl he wants, he’ll get her.”
She looked at him with a grand innocence. Aladdin’s heart leaped a little.
“But suppose two men made up their minds,” said Aladdin, “to get the same girl.”
“That would just prove the rule,” said Margaret, refusing to see any personal application, “because one of them would get her, and the other would be the exception.”
“Would the one who spoke first have an advantage?” said Aladdin. “Suppose he’d wanted her ever so long, and had tried to succeed because of her, and”—he was warming to the subject, which meant much to him—“had never known that there was any other girl in the world, and had pinned all his faith and hope on her, would he have any advantage?”