"My side—you know it already. He wants to marry me—and I—I am willing. That's all. How could it be anything else?" She put out her hand as though calling on her surroundings to explain.
"What have you told him?" Bofinger asked, seeing that he must prompt the recital.
"I am living with an aunt, whom I support by needlework," she admitted reluctantly.
"Come, my dear," Bofinger said encouragingly. "If you don't want to tell me how you managed it—you're clever enough, you fooled me for a moment—tell me where you are."
"I don't know," she said frankly. "He's half crazy, you know. I'm never sure of him."
"Well, has he spoken?"
"Of marriage? No—that is, not outright."
"Well, where are you?"
"Why, I am waiting," she said with a shrug. "He makes love to me all the time."