Major Edward folded the Gazette with his one hand, laid it on the library table, and leaned back in his leather chair. "It is not my opinion that Unity cares for Mr. Page. She cares for what many men and an occasional woman have cared for—liberty."
"I would give her liberty."
"She may possibly prefer it," said the Major dryly, "first hand."
The young man laughed ruefully. "So little liberty as she has left me! I am bound hand and foot to her chariot wheels. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her, short of hearing Page read aloud."
"You'll win in the end, I think. And I hope you may. Unity Dandridge is wilful, but she is a fine woman."
"The finest in the world—the most beautiful—the most sparkling—the most loyal—"
"You'll not find her lacking in spirit. She will speak her mind, will Miss Dandridge! The Carys, fortunately, have a certain fine obstinacy of their own. It is a saving grace."
The other laughed. "I never heard that the Churchills lacked it, sir. Anyhow, I mean to marry Miss Dandridge. I've told her and the world my intention, and they may count upon my carrying it out. If she only knew how lonely it is at Greenwood! Breakfast, dinner, and supper—Ludwell at the head of the table and I at the foot, and a company of ghosts in between—"
"Ludwell may yet marry."
Fairfax Cary shook his head. "No. He'll never marry. If the Carys are obstinate, sir, they are also constant."