"All young married people want to know that of their friends," he said evasively.
"I think you would have made an awfully nice husband, and—it seems such a pity that you should be alone."
He picked up one of the roses which I had untied and held it to his face.
"How do you mean, a pity?"
"Why, that you should be in that great big house at Dorking by yourself when there are so many women in the world. They seem to overflow. I don't know what is to be done with them all."
"So you want to marry me for the sake of reducing the number of spinsters?" He laughed.
"Well, not exactly," I replied. "But I feel you have lost so much—you and the woman you ought to have married."
"How do you know there was one?" he asked sharply.
I smiled.
"I guessed," I said. "I am quite brilliant at times. Where is she?"