But Vanderbank, for enthusiasm, scarcely heard him. “I can’t tell you how admirable I think you.” Then eagerly, “Does Nanda know it?” he demanded.
Mr. Longdon, after a wait, spoke with comparative dryness. “My idea has been that for the present you alone shall.”
Vanderbank took it in. “No other man?”
His companion looked still graver. “I need scarcely say that I depend on you to keep the fact to yourself.”
“Absolutely then and utterly. But that won’t prevent what I think of it. Nothing for a long time has given me such joy.”
Shining and sincere, he had held for a minute Mr. Longdon’s eyes. “Then you do care for her?”
“Immensely. Never, I think, so much as now. That sounds of a grossness, doesn’t it?” the young man laughed. “But your announcement really lights up the mind.”
His friend for a moment almost glowed with his pleasure. “The sum I’ve fixed upon would be, I may mention, substantial, and I should of course be prepared with a clear statement—a very definite pledge—of my intentions.”
“So much the better! Only”—Vanderbank suddenly pulled himself up—“to get it she MUST marry?”
“It’s not in my interest to allow you to suppose she needn’t, and it’s only because of my intensely wanting her marriage that I’ve spoken to you.”