“Well, I have,” she said. “I think you ought to profit by his example. He’s so industrious and calm and dignified. People all talk about him. We’ve sort of made a model out of him.”
Saying which, she lighted a second cigarette and sat back to look at Charles in a tantalizing way.
Meanwhile the chess players had been discussing very personal matters between moves. Conrad had suggested to Mr. Harrow, who knew his heart, that it was high time for a proposal of marriage to the young lady in the adjoining room. “Especially,” he said, “since she seemed to have her head turned by the attentions of this young man Charles what-do-you-call-him.”
“Saunders,” said Mr. Harrow.
“Yes, Saunders. He hasn’t a cent in the world, has he?”
“No,” said Mr. Harrow, “but you mustn’t be alarmed at that. If you had brought up a daughter, you wouldn’t be alarmed at that. Your move.”
“Precisely,” said Conrad, moving his bishop into a position of extreme peril, where it was promptly snatched up by the opponent’s queen. “But I believe, sir—and surely you must agree with me—that the better portion of a woman’s life is that which is devoted to the care of the home; and that your daughter—”
“Your move again,” said Mr. Harrow, who was now commencing the final drive of his attack.
“Certainly. That your daughter has seen enough of the world to realize the futility of flirtation with—”