"Alec would do that anyway," I said.
"Of course. Nice old Al! He's as good as gold."
I couldn't bear her patronising manner. She has always treated Alec like that, just because she had money and he had nothing but goodness. I turned to her seriously.
"Miss Campbell," I asked, "how did you come to want to marry Alec?"
"You amusing chicken!" she laughed, then pinching me disgustingly on the arm, she added in a sly way, "You wait, you'll know when the right one comes."
I flushed but held my peace.
"I was only wondering," I said. "Alec has so little money, and you—I mean our business—our success is so uncertain."
"Alec is bound to succeed now," she replied in her cock-sure way. "I told Al there was no such word in my vocabulary as failure. Besides Father is going to look into the business, and Father never touched a thing that wasn't successful."
"Your father!" I gasped with the colour again in my face. Her father used to collect junk-iron. "Our business!"
"Oh, come, come. Just like Al at first. This Vars pride! Don't you see, my dear, that, independent of weddings, a man can put a little life into a dead business if he wants to?"
"My father's business isn't dead," I exclaimed, now filled with indignation.
"Oh, come, Bobbikins!"
"Don't call me that, please," I said and drew away my arm.
