She drew her needle through the piece of embroidery which she permitted
to herself for an hour on Sundays, knotted the thread and bit it off.
Then she regarded her husband.

"I.... I will have no fiddle-faddle in such a matter," he said
courageously. "Maids did not rule their parents when I was a boy; they
obeyed them or were beaten."

His wife laughed shortly; and began to thread her needle again.

He began to explain. The match was in all respects suitable. Certainly
there were difficulties, springing from the very startling events at
Matstead, and it well might be that a man who would do as Mr. Audrey had
done (or, rather, proposed to do) might show obstinacy in other
directions too. Therefore there was no hurry; the two were still very
young, and it certainly would be wiser to wait for any formal betrothal
until Robin's future disclosed itself. But no action of Mr. Audrey's
need delay the betrothal indefinitely; if need were, he, Mr. Manners,
would make proper settlements. Marjorie was an only daughter; in fact,
she was in some sort an heiress. The Manor would be sufficient for them
both. As to any other difficulties--any of the maidenly fiddle-faddle of
which his wife had spoken--this should not stand in the way for an
instant.

His wife laughed again in the same exclamatory manner, when he had done
and sat stroking his knees.

"Why, you understand nothing about it, Mr. Manners," she said, "Did the
maid not tell you she would marry him, if he wished it? She told me so."