“I think her proportions are about right for her age.”
“Which is——?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Are you sure about that, papa? You know they sometimes forget to count their birthdays.”
“Whom do you mean by they?” asked Colonel Craighill guardedly.
“I mean the members of my delightful sex. Let me see, you are sixty-five, if I remember right. Twice twenty-nine is”—she made the computation on her slim, supple fingers—“fifty-eight: you’re rather more than twice her age.”
“It would be more polite, to say that she’s rather less than half mine.”
“Oh, it all gets to the same place! It will have the advantage of making me appear young to have a stepmother a few years my junior. But what a blow to these old dowagers who have been suspected of having designs on you! They little knew that all the time they were pursuing you to consult about their investments or church or charity schemes, you were casting about for some lovely young thing still in the lawful possession of her own hair and teeth. Why, if I’d known that was your idea there are lots of nice girls here in town that I should love to have in the family. Wayne, you will be careful not to flirt with her!”
“Fanny!”
Colonel Craighill struck the table so sharply that the candlesticks jumped. He was angry, and the colour deepened in his face.