"Sorry." He looked at the tip of his cigar and brushed away the ash. "Because he's a no end good sort."
"You don't know that any better than I do. Don't think I can't see all the advantages of it. I do. I want to say 'Yes,' but—well, I can't. That's all."
"On account of the other man?" he questioned gently.
"I haven't mentioned any other man," she cried, her face in a flame.
"No, I mentioned him. Devilish impudent of me, if you want to take it that way, Moya. But, then, as you've said, I'm in loco. Got to grub around and find out how you feel."
"Lady Jim has been poking you up and telling you it's your duty," she told him in derision.
"I daresay. I'm a lazy beggar. Always shirking when I can."
"Lady Jim isn't lazy."
"Di does her duty even when it isn't pleasant. Pity more of us don't."
"Meaning that it is my unpleasant duty to marry Mr. Verinder's money?"