"True. I must think again."
It was some moments later that George, eyeing his friend with the growing dislike which those of superior brain-power engender in us when they fail to deliver the goods in our times of crisis, observed him give a sudden start.
"I think I have it," said Hamilton Beamish.
"Well?"
"This Miss Stubbs. Tell me, is she strait-laced? Prudish? Most of those village girls are."
George reflected.
"I don't remember ever having noticed. I never did anything to make her prudish about."
"I think we may assume that, having lived all her life in a spot like East Gilead, she is. The solution of this difficulty, then, is obviously to lead her to suppose that you have become a reprobate."
"A what?"
"A Don Juan. A Lothario. A libertine. It should be perfectly easy. She has seen motion-pictures of life in New York, and will not be hard to convince that you have deteriorated since you came to live there. Our plan of action now becomes straightforward and simple. All we have to do is to get some girl to come along and say that you have no right to marry anybody but her."