“I love the place, Sir—I’m dead keen.”
“Yes, I remember you always wanted.... Of course I’ll put you into Starvecrow.”
“Starvecrow!”
“Don’t repeat my words. The Agent has always lived at Starvecrow, and there are quite enough of us here in the house. Besides there’s another thing. How old are you?”
“Thirty-six.”
“Time you married, ain’t it?”
“I suppose it is.”
“I was thirty, myself, when I married, but thirty-six is rather late. How is it you haven’t married earlier?”
“Oh, I dunno—the war I suppose.”
“The war seems to have had the opposite effect on most people. But my children don’t seem a marrying lot. Doris ... Hugh ... there’s Mary, of course, and George, but I don’t congratulate either of ’em. Julian’s a mean blackguard, and Rose——” Sir John defined Rose in terms most unsuitable to a clergyman’s wife.