“It will be a most suitable match in every way,” said Mrs. Porter.
Bailey bounded to his feet.
“It’s incredible!” he shouted. “It’s ridiculous! It’s abominable! It’s—it’s incredible!”
Mrs. Porter gazed upon his transports with about the same amount of interest which she would have bestowed upon a whirling dervish at Coney Island.
“You have not seen Mr. Winfield, I gather?”
“When I do, he will have reason to regret it. I——”
“Sit down.”
Bailey sat down.
“Ruth and Mr. Winfield are both perfect types. Mr. Winfield is really a splendid specimen of a man. As to his intelligence, I say nothing. I have ceased to expect intelligence in man, and I am grateful for the smallest grain. But physically, he is magnificent. I could not wish dear Ruth a better husband.”
Bailey had pulled himself together with a supreme effort and had achieved a frozen calm.