It must be Marion Dexter. She was fair and, well, more or less young, William supposed. William didn’t know about her hair being silken. It looked just like ordinary hair to him. But you never knew with girls. He had kept the poem in order to use it as a weapon of offence against Robert when occasion demanded. But that episode belonged to his old evil past. In his new life of self-denial and service he wanted to help Robert. The poem ended:
“I should be happy, I aver
If thou my suit wouldst but prefer.”
That meant that Robert wanted to be engaged to her. Poor Robert! Perhaps he was too shy to ask her, or perhaps he’d asked her and she’d refused ... well, it was here that Robert needed some help. William, with a determined expression, set off down the road.
III
He knocked loudly at the door. By a lucky chance Marion Dexter came to the door herself.
“Good afternoon,” she said.
“Good afternoon,” said William in a business-like fashion. “Has Robert ever asked you to marry him?”
“No. What a peculiar question to ask on the front doorstep. Do come in.”
William followed her into the drawing-room. She shut the door. They both sat down. William’s face was set and frowning.