“Practically.”

“Oh that’s all right, then.  It doesn’t matter asking a woman practically as long as you don’t ask her literally.”

“Father, please don’t talk about it.”

“I will talk about it.  Lawrence, do you know what this idiot’s letting himself in for?  Have you seen Joanna Godden?  Why, she’d never do for him?  She’s a big, bouncing female, and her stays creak.”

“Be quiet, father.  You make me furious.”

“Yes, you’ll be disrespectful to me in a minute.  That would be very sad, and the breaking of a noble record.  Of course it’s presumptuous of me to want a lady for my daughter-in-law, and perhaps you’re right to chuck away the poor remains of our dignity—­they were hardly worth keeping.”

“I’ve thought over that,” said Martin.  He saw now that having recklessly started the subject he could not put it aside till it had been fought out.  “I’ve thought over that, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Joanna’s worth any sacrifice I can make for her.”

“But not marriage—­why must you ask her to marry you?  You don’t really know her.  You’ll cool off.”

“I shan’t.”

“What about your health, Martin?” asked Lawrence, “are you fit and able to marry?  You know what the doctor said.”

“He said I might go off into consumption if I hung on in town—­that beastly atmosphere at Wright’s and all the racket....  But there’s nothing actually wrong with me, I’m perfectly fit down here.  I’ll last for ever in this place, and I tell you it’s been a ghastly thought till now—­knowing that I must either stop here, away from all my friends and interests, or else shorten my life.  But now, I don’t care—­when I marry Joanna Godden I’ll take root, I’ll belong to the Marsh, I’ll be at home.  You don’t know Joanna Godden, Lawrence—­if you did I believe you’d like her.  She’s so sane and simple—­she’s so warm and alive; and she’s good, too—­when I met her to-day, she had just been to Communion.  She’ll help me to live—­at last I’ll be able to live the best life for me, body and soul, down here in the sea air, with no town rubbish ...”

“It sounds a good thing,” said Lawrence.  “After all, father, there really isn’t much use trying to keep up the state of the Trevors and all that now ...”

“No, there isn’t—­especially when this evening’s guest will arrive in two minutes to find us sitting round in dirt and darkness and dissension, all because we’ve been too busy discussing our heir’s betrothal to a neighbouring goose-girl to trouble about such fripperies as dressing for dinner.  Of course now Lawrence elects to take Martin’s part there’s no good my trying to stand against the two of you.  I’ve always been under your heels, ever since you were old enough to boss me.  Let the state of the Trevors go—­Martin, marry Joanna Godden and we will come to you for our mangolds—­Lawrence, if you were not hindered by your vows, I should suggest your marrying one of the Miss Southlands or the Miss Vines, and then we could have a picturesque double wedding.  As for me, I will build on more solid foundations than either of you, and marry my cook.”