“I really don’t think—” he began.
“You and I are old friends. Do tell me.”
He certainly had not come intending to be quite frank, and this sudden attack rather startled him.
“You have formed some project,” she continued. “I know it. Now let me guess what it is.”
“But I assure you—”
“You have found someone whom you think would suit Beryl as a husband. Isn’t that it?”
“Well, I don’t know. I confess it had just occurred to me that with her beauty, her cleverness, and her money—for one has to think of money, unfortunately in these difficult days—she would be a very desirable wife for a rising ambitious man.”
“No doubt. And who is he?”
It was against all Braybrooke’s instincts to burst out abruptly into the open. He scarcely knew what to do. But he was sufficiently sharp to realize that Lady Sellingworth already knew the answer to her question. So he made a virtue of necessity and replied:
“It had merely occurred to me, after noting young Craven’s enthusiasm about her beauty and cleverness, that he might suit her very well. He must marry and marry well if he wishes to rise high in the diplomatic career.”