“Young and pretty and sexy!” He always said that when she said she was aging. It always pleased her.
“Nonsense! Homely as a Missouri mule and twice the size! No, Lenore isn’t someone I’ve seen lately. I do recall she used to attend St. Stephen’s when she was an awkward, adolescent girl. I’ve inquired. It’s very easy. After all, her father’s in the bank.”
“So he is! Never thought of it, really. So he is. Old—what’s it?—old Buzz—no! Beau Bailey. He’s cashier, or something….”
“That’s correct.” Mrs. Sloan tinkled a coronation hand bell and the soup was removed. A huge roast was carried in. Both mother and son helped themselves not to one, but three thick slices. “The girl’s not merely pretty as a movie star. She’s bright. Did some really good work in college. Science, I believe. I like a scientific-minded woman. Sticks to facts. Realist. No folderol.”
Kit grinned agreeingly. “She’s high up in the brains department. You want to know why water expands when it freezes, or all about hydrogen bombs—Lenore can tell you. Who wants to know, though?” He helped himself to pan-roasted potatoes.
“And quite good at athletics,” Minerva said.
“What is this? You’re talking about the woman I love—at the moment—as if she were something entered in a state fair.”
“She wouldn’t make a bad entry. And that’s what I mean, in a way.
“Not the old Kit-your-duty-is-grandchildren-supply, is it, Muzz?” He glanced up keenly.
“By God, it is!”