"I have changed them altogether."
Long hours of brooding among the red plush settees in the lounge of the Hotel Magnificent at Bingley-on-the-Sea had brought about this strange, even morbid, attitude of mind in Samuel Marlowe. Work, he had decided even before his conversation with Eustace, was the only medicine for his sick soul. Here, he felt, in this quiet office, far from the tumult and noise of the world, in a haven of torts and misdemeanours and Vic. I Cap 3's, and all the rest of it, he might find peace. At any rate, it was worth taking a stab at it.
"Your trip has done you good," said Sir Mallaby approvingly. "The sea air has given you some sense. I'm glad of it. It makes it easier for me to say something else that I've had on my mind for a good while. Sam, it's time you got married."
Sam barked bitterly. His father looked at him with concern.
"Swallow some smoke the wrong way?"
"I was laughing," explained Sam with dignity.
Sir Mallaby shook his head.
"I don't want to discourage your high spirit, but I must ask you to approach this matter seriously. Marriage would do you a world of good, Sam. It would brace you up. You really ought to consider the idea. I was two years younger than you are when I married your poor mother, and it was the making of me. A wife might make something of you."
"Impossible!"
"I don't see why she shouldn't. There's lots of good in you, my boy, though you may not think so."