Everybody said Marion ought to be married as she had those fine
qualities which belong to the ideal home-maker. Nearly every man who
knew her declared that she would make a perfect wife--and then went off
and married someone else. They said the chap would be lucky who got
her--which was true enough--but the idea of going in to win her didn't
seem to occur to any one of them.

So here was Marion, sweet and lovable, who would make a delightful
mother of children and of a home a haven of refuge, languishing alone
for want of a suitable offer of marriage.

I will frankly admit that I planned various matrimonial schemes for
Marion. Many eligible men did I invite to meet her; some fell on stony
ground, and others made excuses and stayed away.

I remained undaunted, although I got no assistance from Henry, who
strongly disapproved of my manoeuvres. In any case, he would never
have been of much help in the matter, being quite unable to distinguish
between the Right and the Wrong kind of man. Also, nearly all his
friends are either married with grown-up children, or elderly widowers
with hearts so firmly embedded in the graves of their former wives that
it would be perfectly impossible to try to excavate them again.

The annoying thing about Henry, too, is his lack of discernment
regarding men. I have known him speak glowingly, and with unabated
enthusiasm, of 'a most interesting chap' he has met at his club,
referring to him as 'altogether delightful,' 'a charming
conversationalist,' and so on, until I have felt impelled to ask Henry
to bring this treasure home to dinner.