"Shall I tell you something?" said Mr. Waddington.
"What?"
"My second wife—not my first—wants Molly to marry him. Did you notice him at dinner?"
"I did," said George patiently. "And I did not like his looks. He looked to me cold and sinister, the sort of man who might break the heart of an impulsive young girl. What Miss Waddington wants, I feel convinced, is a husband who would give up everything for her—a man who would sacrifice his heart's desire to bring one smile to her face—a man who would worship her, set her in a shrine, make it his only aim in life to bring her sunshine and happiness."
"My wife," said Mr. Waddington, "is much too stout."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Much too stout."
"Miss Waddington, if I may say so, has a singularly beautiful figure."
"Too much starchy food, and no exercise—that's the trouble. What my wife needs is a year on a ranch, riding over the prairies in God's sunshine."
"I happened to catch sight of Miss Waddington the other day in riding costume. I thought it suited her admirably. So many girls look awkward in riding-breeches, but Miss Waddington was charming. The costume seemed to accentuate what I might describe as that strange boyish jauntiness of carriage which, to my mind, is one of Miss Waddington's chief...."