CHAPTER V

Marion gave me what the newspapers term ‘a verbatim report’ of the interview which took place between her and George Harbinger.  She omitted no detail.  As far as I understand, when I left them he was standing with his right foot on the fender and the other on the rug, and his elbow on the mantelpiece.  She was sitting in the easy chair to the left of the fireplace, in the full glow of the shaded lamp, knitting a jumper.  There was a pause and then he began, ’You never seem idle for a minute.  How nimble your fingers are!’

Marion knitted a little harder.

‘I have always hoped,’ he went on, ’that the woman I married would be fond of her needle.  There is something so restful in the idea of coming home in the evening to see one’s companion sitting at the fireside engaged in such womanly tasks.’

Marion said that, no doubt, after a hard day at assessing, such a sight would be soothing to a man.

He now came and sat beside her.  ’I want to ask you something rather important,’ he said, ’but I wonder if I have known you long enough to warrant it.’

She paused in her knitting for a moment to remind him—­very earnestly—­that real friendship and understanding is more a matter of affinity than actual length of acquaintance.

‘You’re right,’ he said, pondering, ’and, of course, you’re so . . . so sensible.’

Women hate to be told they are sensible by any one but their mothers-in-law.  But how could an assessor know that?  He continued to regard her earnestly.  ’I feel sure, too, that you’re so much older than you look.’

To this day Marion says she’s not sure whether this was intended as a compliment or a deadly insult.

‘Do you think,’ he went on, ’that a man should ask a woman to marry him only when she has reached maturity?’

Marion, moving well into the glow of the pink-shaded lamp, said it depended on the stage of maturity.  Nowadays, when women so often look younger than they really are, it is difficult to tell.

He seemed relieved.  ’That’s exactly what I feel about it.  But supposing my mother shouldn’t approve of my choice?  I hate family squabbles above everything.  I have always maintained that I would only marry the woman that my mother really liked.’

‘Isn’t that rather a handicap for your future wife?’ asked Marion gently.  ‘But why not ask your mother’s opinion of her?’

‘That’s just what I want to speak to you about,’ he put in eagerly.  ’I . . .  I want to ask you if I can introduce you to my mother?’

The knitting fell from Marion’s nerveless fingers.  She can show you the uneven row on the jumper where she dropped fifteen stitches at that moment.

[Illustration:  Marion dropped fifteen stitches.]

‘I shall be most happy to meet your mother,’ she murmured.

‘This is really good of you,’ he said eagerly.  ’You see, you’re the very one she would take to in an instant.  I knew it directly I met you.  I don’t know any one else she would listen to so willingly, if you will consent to intervene.’