"The only modern thing about him is his paying you so little," said Bertha. "And, Madeline, we mustn't forget that young men are very difficult to get hold of nowadays--for girls. Everyone complains of it. Formerly they wouldn't dance, but they'd do everything else. Now, dancing's the only thing they will do. People are always making bitter remarks to me about it. There's not the slightest doubt that, except for dancing, young men just now, somehow or other, are scarce, wild and shy. And the funny thing is that they'll two-step and one-step and double-Boston and Tango the whole evening, but that's practically all. Oh, they're most unsatisfactory! Lots of girls have told me so. And as to proposals! Why, they're the _rarest_ thing! Even when the modern young man is devoted you can't be sure of serious intentions, except, of course, in the Royal Family, or at the Gaiety." "Well, _I_ don't care! I'm sure I don't want all these silly dancing young men. They bore me to death. Give me _culture_! and all that sort of thing. Only--only Rupert! ... Very often after he's refused an invitation, like this of mother's, he'll write and ask me to have tea with him at Rumpelmeyer's, or somewhere; and then he'll talk and talk the whole time about ... oh, any general instructive subject." "For instance?" "Oh ... architecture!" "How inspiriting!" "But does it all mean anything, Bertha?" "I almost think it must," she answered dreamily. "No man could take a girl out to eat ices and talk of the cathedral at Rouen, or discuss Pointed Gothic and Norman arches over tea and bread and butter, without _some_ intentions. It wouldn't be human." "It's quite true he always seems to take a good deal for granted," remarked Madeline. "But not enough." "Exactly!" "Rupert would make a very good husband--if you could stand him," said Bertha meditatively; "he's one of those thoroughly well-informed people who never know what is going on." "If I could _stand_ him! Why, Bertha! I'd work my fingers to the bone, and lay down my life for him!" "He doesn't want your life, and, probably, not bony fingers either, but he'll want incense swung, _all_ the time, remember; and always in front of him only. He won't be half as good-natured and indulgent as Percy." "Of course, Percy's very sweet, and kind and clever, and devoted to you," said Madeline, "but I always feel that it would have been more your ideal to have married your first love, Nigel; and far more romantic, too. He's so good-looking and amusing, and how delightfully he sings Debussy!"