This was in the typewriting-room of the college, within ten minutes of the close of an advertisement-writing evening.
"What can I say to him?" I asked. "It's no business of mine." She little knew how much I had made it my business.
"Oh, that's just like a man!" she said impatiently, all aglow with the esprit de sexe. "The poor child's moping and fretting, and you say it's no business of yours! Of course it's the business of all her friends!"
"Of all her women friends, maybe," I answered. "Well, if that's so, why don't you and Miss Angela have a talk about it?"
"As if we hadn't—twenty!" she cried. "You and your bright ideas. It isn't fair—it isn't fair to Evie!"
"But what is it you hope for?" I asked.
She stared. "Why, that he'll marry her, of course!"
"Quite so. But I don't mean that. I mean, do you and Miss Angela think you can bring any pressure to bear?"
"Yes, I do—young idiot!" she broke out. "He ought to be ashamed of himself!"
And I didn't doubt that a certain amount of pressure might be brought to bear. If it was made less trouble for Archie to marry than not to marry, he would probably marry. He had not manhood enough, if it was clearly shown that marriage was expected of him, to hold out. And I knew how those marriages turned out.... I meditated.