Resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands he leaned forward, gazing thoughtfully into the fire:
‘I have n’t got over my surprise at your piece of news yet,’ he said, after a pause. ‘I thought you so determined a bachelor.’
‘So I thought myself,’ put in Isaac with a nod.
‘And then—from what I’ve seen of Mrs. Fiander I should never have imagined that she would be the wife you would choose when you did make up your mind to take one.’
‘Why so?’ inquired Isaac, somewhat roughly.
‘She’s so young—forty years younger than you, I should think.’
‘Thirty-nine,’ corrected his uncle succinctly.
‘Then she is so beautiful—so full of life, and spirit, and dash. I can’t imagine how you came to think of her.’
There was a pause, during which Isaac meditatively smoked and rubbed his knees.
‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘I did n’t exactly think of it myself, ye see—but I could n’t someways find it in my heart to say No.’