“Willy Cameron. You know, father. And he has the queerest ideas about us. Honestly. And I want him to like us, and it's such a good chance, with grandfather out.”
He ignored that.
“How about our liking him?”
“Oh, you'll like him. Everybody does. You will try to make a good impression, won't you, father?”
He got up, and resting his hands on her shoulders, smiled down into her upturned face. “I will,” he said. “But I think I should tell you that your anxiety arouses deep and black suspicions in my mind. Am I to understand that you have fixed your young affections on this Willy Cameron, and that you want your family to help you in your dark designs?”
Lily laughed.
“I love him,” she said. “I really do. I could listen to him for hours. But people don't want to marry Willy Cameron. They just love him.”
There was born in Howard's mind a vision of a nice pink and white young man, quite sexless, whom people loved but did not dream of marrying.
“I see,” he said slowly. “Like a puppy.”
“Not at all like a puppy.”