“Matrimonially amorous,” said the daughter; “in fact, without either of us having guessed it, it appears that he’s the victim of an infatuation.”

“He has certainly been polite and attentive,” said Mrs. Pevenly; “he is not a man who says much, but he listens to what one has to say. And do you mean that he really wants to marry⁠—?”

“That is exactly what he does want,” said Beryl. “I don’t know that he is the sort of husband that one woud rave about, but I gather that he has enough to live on⁠—as much as we’re accustomed to, anyhow, and he’s quite presentable to look at. The alternative is selling out a big chunk of our little capital; I should have to go and be a governess or typewriter or something, and you would have to do needlework. From just making things do, and paying rounds of visits and having a fairly good time, we should sink suddenly to the unfortunate position of distressed gentlefolk. I don’t know what you think, but I’m inclined to consider that the marriage proposition is the least objectionable.”