"No," said John. "It was probably ten minutes, possibly fifteen. But they passed so quickly, it's really nearer the truth to describe them as one or two."
Lady Blanchemain shifted her sunshade, and screwed herself half round, so as to face him, her soft old eyes full of smiling scrutiny and suspicion.
"I never can tell whether or not you're serious," she complained. "If you are serious,—well, à quand le mariage?"
"The marriage?" cried John. "How could I marry her? Such a thing's out of all question.
"Why?" asked she.
"A miller's daughter!" said John. "Would you have me marry the daughter of a miller?"
"You said yourself yesterday—" the lady reminded him.
"Ah, yes," said he. "But night brings counsel."
"If she's well educated," said Lady Blanchemain, "if she's well-bred, what does it matter about her father? Though a nobody in Austria, where nothing counts but quarterings, he's probably what we'd call a gentleman in England. Suppose he's a barrister? Or the editor of a newspaper? Or—"
She paused, thoughtful-eyed, to think of respectable professions. At last she gave up the effort.