Part 34 (1/2)
”I didn't think of it,” she pursued. ”No; when you spoke to me in the drawing-room, that was practically the first. It was all so different from what it's supposed to be. On the stage, or in books, a proposal is--how shall I put it?--a full-blown affair, a hind of bouquet; it loses its literal meaning. But in life a proposal really is a proposal--”
”By the way--”
”Oh, very well.”
”I am so glad,” she answered, a little surprised. ”What did you talk about? Me, presumably.”
”About Greece too.”
”Greece was a very good card, Henry. Tibby's only a boy still, and one has to pick and choose subjects a little. Well done.”
”I was telling him I have shares in a currant-farm near Calamata.”
”What a delightful thing to have shares in! Can't we go there for our honeymoon?”
”What to do?”
”To eat the currants. And isn't there marvellous scenery?”
”Moderately, but it's not the kind of place one could possibly go to with a lady.”
”Why not?”
”No hotels.”
”Some ladies do without hotels. Are you aware that Helen and I have walked alone over the Apennines, with our luggage on our backs?”
”I wasn't aware, and, if I can manage it, you will never do such a thing again.”
She said more gravely: ”You haven't found time for a talk with Helen yet, I suppose?”
”No.”
”Do, before you go. I am so anxious you two should be friends.”
”Your sister and I have always. .h.i.t it off,” he said negligently. ”But we're drifting away from our business. Let me begin at the beginning.
You know that Evie is going to marry Percy Cahill.”
”Dolly's uncle.”
”Exactly. The girl's madly in love with him. A very good sort of fellow, but he demands--and rightly--a suitable provision with her. And in the second place you will naturally understand, there is Charles. Before leaving town, I wrote Charles a very careful letter. You see, he has an increasing family and increasing expenses, and the I. and W. A. is nothing particular just now, though capable of development.”
”Poor fellow!” murmured Margaret, looking out to sea, and not understanding.
”Charles being the elder son, some day Charles will have Howards End; but I am anxious, in my own happiness, not to be unjust to others.”
”Of course not,” she began, and then gave a little cry. ”you mean money.
How stupid I am! Of course not!”