“But, my dear boy, I am sure you would not like the life. Even if I obtained a post for you in a bank—”
Dennis said that wasn’t what he meant. He didn’t want to go into a bank. I asked him what exactly he did mean, and of course, as I suspected, the boy didn’t really know.
By “going into finance,” he simply meant getting rich quickly, which with the optimism of youth he imagined was a certainty if one “went into the city.” I disabused him of this notion as gently as I could.
“What’s put it into you head?” I asked. “You were so satisfied with the idea of going to sea.”
“I know, Uncle Len, but I’ve been thinking. I shall want to marry some day—and, I mean, you’ve got to be rich to marry a girl.”
“Facts disprove your theory,” I said.
“I know—but a real girl. I mean, a girl who’s used to things.”
It was very vague, but I thought I knew what he meant.
“You know,” I said gently, “all girls aren’t like Lettice Protheroe.”
He fired up at once.
“You’re awfully unfair to her. You don’t like her. Griselda doesn’t either. She says she’s tiresome.”
From the feminine point of view Griselda is quite right. Lettice is tiresome. I could quite realize, however, that a boy would resent the adjective.
“If only people made a few allowances. Why even the Hartley Napiers are going about grousing about her at a time like this! Just because she left