“Farley,” Briggs suddenly asked, “how old are you?”
“Thirty-five.”
“How does it happen that you aren’t married?”
Farley smiled and flushed. “Oh, I’ve had other things to think of,” he said, evasively.
Douglas Briggs looked at him for a moment. “Do you mean that you’ve never been in love?”
“No, I didn’t mean that,” Farley replied, walking to the desk and looking down at some papers, with both hands resting on the edge.
“Then you have been?”
Farley did not stir. “Yes,” he replied.
“Seriously?”
Farley nodded.