"Of course it's a very awkward situation for a man," she went on, toying
with muffin. "I can quite understand how you feel. And with most folks
you'd be right. There's very few women that can judge character, and if
you started to try and settle something at once they'd just set you down
as a wrong 'un. But I'm not like that. I don't expect any fiddle-faddle.
What I like is plain sense and plain dealing. We both want to get
married, so it would be silly to pretend we didn't, wouldn't it? And it
would be ridiculous of me to look for courting and a proposal, and all
that sort of thing, just as if I'd never seen a man in his
shirt-sleeves. The only question is: shall we suit each other? I've told
you what I think. What do you think?"

She smiled honestly, kindly, but piercingly.

What could he say? What would you have said, you being a man? It is
easy, sitting there in your chair, with no Mrs. Alice Challice in front
of you, to invent diplomatic replies; but conceive yourself in Priam's
place! Besides, he did think she would suit him. And most positively he
could not bear the prospect of seeing her pass out of his life. He had
been through that experience once, when his hat blew off in the Tube;
and he did not wish to repeat it.

"Of course you've got no _home_!" she said reflectively, with such
compassion. "Suppose you come down and just have a little peep at mine?"

So that evening, a suitably paired couple chanced into the fishmonger's
at the corner of Werter Road, and bought a bit of sole. At the newspaper
shop next door but one, placards said: "Impressive Scenes at Westminster
Abbey," "Farll funeral, stately pageant," "Great painter laid to rest,"
etc.