"I hope so," said Miss Leslie humbly.
"But are you sure? You dear women, Jean, if I may say so, are too apt to be carried away by your feelings. What is his station—his position?"
"He is a retired colonel of militia," replied Miss Leslie. (This statement would have surprised Timothy, who would have it that his rival was a superannuated tea-taster.) "He has lived a great deal in India, and is now quite alone in the world."
"I see. One leg and no liver, I presume!" said Montagu facetiously.
Miss Leslie laughed appreciatively.
"You are as caustic as ever, Montagu," she said. "You spare none of us. But what do you think I should do? I am a solitary woman. It is a dreich business, living by one's self, is it not?"
"It is, it is," agreed Montagu, lapsing straightway into self-pity. "Too true! Believe me, Jean, I know what it means, better than most."
"Still, you are not entirely alone," Miss Leslie reminded him. "You have Peggy."
"It is a fact," admitted Falconer with an air of gloomy sarcasm, "that I do possess a daughter; but for all practical purposes I might as well be Robinson Crusoe. I never see her by day, for I am busy in the studio and naturally do not want to be pestered. In the afternoon, as often as not, she goes out or invites some people in. In either case I take my tea alone, for I cannot stand her associates. When she does go out she frequently returns only just in time to give me my dinner."
Miss Leslie nodded sympathetically.