he may stop Lucy knitting you silk ties."

The explanation seemed plausible, and Freddy tried to accept it.
But at the back of his brain there lurked a dim mistrust. Cecil
praised one too much for being athletic. Was that it? Cecil made
one talk in one's own way. This tired one. Was that it? And Cecil
was the kind of fellow who would never wear another fellow's cap.
Unaware of his own profundity, Freddy checked himself. He must be
jealous, or he would not dislike a man for such foolish reasons.

"Will this do?" called his mother. "'Dear Mrs. Vyse,--Cecil has
just asked my permission about it, and I should be delighted if
Lucy wishes it.' Then I put in at the top, 'and I have told Lucy
so.' I must write the letter out again--'and I have told Lucy so.
But Lucy seems very uncertain, and in these days young people
must decide for themselves.' I said that because I didn't want
Mrs. Vyse to think us old-fashioned. She goes in for lectures
and improving her mind, and all the time a thick layer of flue
under the beds, and the maid's dirty thumb-marks where you turn
on the electric light. She keeps that flat abominably--"

"Suppose Lucy marries Cecil, would she live in a flat, or in the
country?"

"Don't interrupt so foolishly. Where was I? Oh yes--'Young people
must decide for themselves. I know that Lucy likes your son,
because she tells me everything, and she wrote to me from Rome
when he asked her first.' No, I'll cross that last bit out--it
looks patronizing. I'll stop at 'because she tells me
everything.' Or shall I cross that out, too?"