“Margot says she is just as sharp now.”
“Rubbish! The most guileless woman I know. You ask a direct question—why does Margot take to you? I’ll tell you. She knows a good thing when she sees it. I read her easily.”
“I’m hanged if I do.”
“She gave me a hint when we first met. She’s dashed at the wrong sort, run riot a bit with a pack of half-bred hounds, clever riff-raff. Old Challoner told me that nice boys like his son were frightened of her. Being independent, she chose to trot out of her own class. Girls of her quality soon trot back. I caught the little witch at the right moment. It’s time she settled down—and she knows it. She knew, also, what I was up to when I asked her here. She came, she saw—and you’ve conquered. When she accepted our invitation to stay on, the matter was nearly clinched. Now—go for her!”
Lionel sat silent.
“Dammy, boy, have you nothing to say?”
“I like her most awfully, father. I’ve never been so pally with any girl, except Joyce.”
“Why lug in Joyce?” growled the Squire. “She’s canoodlin’ with the Professor at this moment, I’ll be bound.”
Lionel experienced a pang. Jealousy ravaged him. The Squire went on less testily:
“No pressure! On you, I mean. These things must come about naturally. But—there it is.”