"Oh-ho!" says I. "Wants you to annex the adjoinin' real estate, does she?"
"It—it isn't exactly that," says he. "I've no doubt she has decided that either Pansy or Violet would make a good wife for me."
"Pansy and Violet!" says I. "Listens well."
"Perhaps their names are hardly appropriate; but they are nice, sensible, rather attractive young women, both of them," insists Merry.
"Then why not?" says I. "What's the matter with the Hymen proposition?"
"Oh, it's out of the question," protests J. Meredith, blushin' deep. "Really I—I've never thought of marrying anyone. Why, how could I? And besides I shouldn't know how to go about it,—proposing, and all that. Oh, I couldn't! You—you can't understand. I'm such a duffer at most things."
There's no fake about him bein' modest. You could tell that by the way he colored up, even talkin' to me. Odd sort of a gink he was, with a lot of queer streaks in him that didn't show on the outside. It was more or less entertainin', followin' up the plot of the piece; but all of a sudden Merry gets over his confidential spasm and shuts up like a clam.
"Almost time to dress for dinner," says he. "We'd best be going in."
And of course my appearin' in the banquet uniform don't give him any serious jolt.
"Well, well, Torchy!" says he, as I strolls into the parlor about six-thirty, tryin' to forget the points of my dress collar. "How splendid you look!"