About this time Sir William Miller, a friend of the family, suggested to my parents that his eldest son—a charming young fellow, since dead—should marry me. I doubt if the young man knew me by sight, but in spite of this we were invited to stay at Manderston, much to my father's delight.
On the evening of our arrival my host said to me in his broad
Scottish accent:
"Margy, will you marry my son Jim?"
"My dear Sir William," I replied, "your son Jim has never spoken to me in his life!"
SIR WILLIAM: "He is shy."
I assured him that this was not so and that I thought his son might be allowed to choose for himself, adding:
"You are like my father, Sir William, and think every one wants to marry."
SIR WILLIAM: "So they do, don't they?" (With a sly look.) "I am sure they all want to marry you."
MARGOT (mischievously): "I wonder!"
SIR WILLIAM: "Margy, would you rather marry me or break your leg?"