She suddenly took up the air of one who has been contemptuously affronted. (Whether it was real or just an absurd make-believe she herself could not have told.)
“Well,” she replied sharply, “I’m sure I shan’t marry anybody who doesn’t want me to.”
“I should think not,” he said heavily, and once more the conversation seemed likely to die a natural death. She was so startled at the utter audacity of what she had said that she could not think of anything to revivify it. Strangely enough, it was he this time who gave it an exciting, if not a long lease of new life.
“Of course,” he remarked speculatively, as if it were just occurring to him while he said it, “that remark of yours was really quite irrelevant. Logically, I mean. It had nothing to do with what I said.”
“What did you say, then?”
“I merely said that I was not very particular.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means—itself. That’s all....” He paused and added: “And supposing I were to marry you, it would prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“That I am not particular.”