"Oh, Andrew, Andrew!" said Mrs. Pottle, with a burst of laughter, "I am not too old to have an offer."
"What do you mean?"
"My! I can hardly tell you for laughing. I have had a proposal of marriage—at my age! Guess who from?"
"Not Bob Fawcett?" said Mr Charteris with a sudden grim suspicion.
"Bob Fawcett!" Mrs. Pottle almost shouted with laughter. "You are just an old goose, Andrew. No; from Mr. Schwab, Hildebrand Schwab, who tried to woo me with a German encyclopaedia. It just beats anything!"
Mr. Charteris grunted.
"Knows that Isidore left you a pile, I suppose."
"You're not complimentary, Andrew. Mr. Schwab called me a 'beautiful objeck', fell in love with me because he had to help me up the gangway, 'bush me zrough!' Oh!——"
The recollection was too much for Mrs. Pottle; her portly double chin shook, and she was breathless with laughter.
"I advise a visit to the stewardess, Jane," said Mr. Charteris. "Excitement is dangerous—at your age."