"And now," added my companion, as I did so, "I beg your pardon."
"This was certainly worth waiting for," said I. "I don't know what answer to make. My head swims. I don't know whether you have been attacking me or praising me. So you advise me to open a corner grocery, do you?"
"I advise you to do something that will make you a little less satirical. You had better marry, for instance."
"Je ne demande pas mieux. Will you have me? I can't afford it."
"Marry a rich woman."
I shook my head.
"Why not?" asked Miss Blunt. "Because people would accuse you of being mercenary? What of that? I mean to marry the first rich man who offers. Do you know that I am tired of living alone in this weary old way, teaching little girls their gamut, and turning and patching my dresses? I mean to marry the first man who offers."
"Even if he is poor?"
"Even if he is poor, ugly, and stupid."
"I am your man, then. Would you take me, if I were to offer?"