‘Do you think so?’ murmured Somers. After a while he said abruptly, ‘I’ll marry her myself, if she’ll have me. I like the look of her.’
‘I wish you would, Alfred, or rather could! She has long had an idea of slipping out of the world of fashion into the world of art. She is a woman of individuality and earnest instincts. I am in real trouble about her. I won’t say she can be won—it would be ungenerous of me to say that. But try. I can bring you together easily.’
‘I’ll marry her, if she’s willing!’ With the phlegmatic dogmatism that was part of him, Somers added: ‘When you have decided to marry, take the first nice woman you meet. They are all alike.’
‘Well—you don’t know her yet,’ replied Jocelyn, who could give praise where he could not give love.
‘But you do, and I’ll take her on the strength of your judgment. Is she really handsome?—I had but the merest glance. But I know she is, or she wouldn’t have caught your discriminating eye.’
‘You may take my word for it; she looks as well at hand as afar.’
‘What colour are her eyes?’
‘Her eyes? I don’t go much in for colour, being professionally sworn to form. But, let me see—grey; and her hair rather light than dark brown.’
‘I wanted something darker,’ said Somers airily. ‘There are so many fair models among native Englishwomen. Still, blondes are useful property!... Well, well; this is flippancy. But I liked the look of her.’
* * *