ill_ get married, but it will
be to a dark man who'll cross water to meet her. She's like me. She
isn't fated to meet the right one yet.'

This was a subtle reference to her own chaotic love affairs. Elizabeth
never has any lack of young men.' But they are like ships that pass in
the night (her night out as a rule), and one by one they drift off,
never stopping to cast anchor in her vicinity. You know what I mean.
Elizabeth can't keep her young men. They seem attracted to her at
first, but, as I say, after a very short time they drift.

'We shall see wot we shall see,' went on Elizabeth, 'there aint no
knowin' an' there aint no tellin'. But wot I ses is, if this 'ere
propogal don't come orf this evenin', I gotta plan. Of course, one
marries accordin' to Fate, but sometimes it doesn't do no 'arm to give
Fate an 'elpin' 'and, like.'

Nodding darkly, she melted out. I did not at the time attach any
significance to her final words. How was I to guess at those schemes
which were even then fermenting in her mind and ended by involving not
only Marion and Another, but the entire family?

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.'

W