“I shan’t. I shall be at Ranelagh. Why this sort of formal call? Is he going to propose to me, do you think?”
“I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Because, if so, you can tell him that I much prefer men who propose on impulse.”
“Like me?”
“It’s not an impulse with you, Bill. It’s habit.”
“Virginia, won’t you ever.”
“No, no, no, Bill. I won’t have it in the morning before lunch. Do try and think of me as a nice motherly person approaching middle age who has your interests thoroughly at heart.”
“Virginia, I do love you so.”
“I know, Bill, I know. And I simply love being loved. Isn’t it wicked and dreadful of me? I should like every nice man in the world to be in love with me.”
“Most of them are, I expect,” said Bill gloomily.
“But I hope George isn’t in love with me. I don’t think he can be. He’s so wedded to his career. What else did he say?”
“Just that it was very important.”
“Bill, I’m getting intrigued. The things that George thinks important are so awfully limited. I think I must chuck Ranelagh. After all, I can go to Ranelagh any day. Tell George that I shall be awaiting him meekly at four o’clock.”
Bill looked at his wrist watch.
“It seems hardly worth while to go back before lunch. Come out and chew something, Virginia.”
“I’m going out to lunch somewhere or other.”
“That doesn’t matter. Make a day of it, and chuck everything all round.”
“It would be rather nice,” said Virginia, smiling at him.
“Virginia, you're a darling. Tell me, you do like me rather, don’t you? Better than other people.”
“Bill, I adore you. If I had to marry some one—simply had to—I mean if it was in a book and a wicked mandarin said to me ‘Marry some one or die by slow torture,” I should choose you at once—I should indeed. I should say, ‘Give me little Bill.’ ”
“Well, then”
“Yes, but I haven’t got to marry any one. I love being a wicked widow.”
25
