THE GOLDEN BOWL
had come out together for themselves, but it had produced something more. What it had produced was in fact expressed by the words with which he met his companion's last emphasis. "Well, she has a famous friend in you, Princess."
Maggie took this in—it was too plain for a protest. "Do you know what I'm really thinking of?" she asked.
He wondered, with her eyes on him—eyes of contentment at her freedom now to talk; and he wasn't such a fool, he presently showed, as not, suddenly, to arrive at it. "Why of your finding her at last yourself a husband."
"Good for you!" Maggie smiled. "But it will take," she added, "some looking."
"Then let me look right here with you," her father said as they walked on.
