“You're not angry, Pink dear?”
“There's nothing to be angry about,” he said, stolidly. “Things have been going on, with me, and staying where they've always been, with you. That's all. I'm not very keen, you know, and I used to think—Your people like me. I mean, they wouldn't—”
“Everybody likes you, Pink.”
“Well, I'll trot along.” He moved a step, hesitated. “Is there anybody else, Lily?”
“Nobody.”
“You won't mind if I hang around a bit, then? You can always send me off when you are sick of me. Which you couldn't if you were fool enough to marry me.”
“Whoever does marry you, dear, will be a lucky woman.”
In the end he stayed to luncheon, and managed to eat a very fair one. But he had little lapses into silence, and Grace Cardew drew her own shrewd conclusions.
“He's such a nice boy, Lily,” she said, after he had gone. “And your grandfather would like it. In a way I think he expects it.”
“I'm not going to marry to please him, mother.”