Amory, as a matter of fact, had been once more hoping that Cosimo would by and by find some really nice girl to marry. In his case the wrong one would be dreadfully wrong; he had the woman's point of view so perfectly. That, in a sense, was why he was so exquisitely right in not wanting to marry Amory herself--supposing, that was, that Amory had not definitely decided never to marry at all. They knew one another too well; were too much alike, too beautifully "pals"; somehow they seemed almost to come within the prohibited degrees.... Still, if Amory couldn't marry Cosimo, she could keep, as it were, an eye on him. It would be dreadful if he fell into the hands of some jealous creature or other, worthy neither of him nor of Amory herself. Amory had long thought that it would be rather nice to be "Aunt Amory" to a number of eugenically-selected and rationally-clothed boys and girls, who were not told lies about where they came from, and had moral courage enough, when they were afraid, to say that they were afraid; but she wasn't going to be "come over" by their mother, and permitted as a favour to see Cosimo once in a while, and to be put off with a "Not at Home" when she and Cosimo wished to discuss her art.... So, when Cosimo said, "A penny for your thoughts," Amory was silent for a moment, and then, lifting her pretty brook-brown eyes over the yard of casement-cloth that united their hands, she smiled pensively and said: "I was wondering, Cosimo, why--why you don't marry Dorothy." Cosimo dropped his end of the casement-cloth and reached for a needle with black thread in it. He leaned forward. "Here, let me stitch that binding while I think of it.... What's that? Marry Dorothy?... Why, you don't suppose Dorothy would have me, do you? Because I don't." Of course, Cosimo was far too well-bred to say that he wouldn't have Dorothy. Still, she guessed what he meant. Dorothy (he seemed to say) was a perfect dear, but not in that way. Nevertheless, Amory, who sat in the light and could see herself ever so tiny in Cosimo's black-coffee-coloured eyes, looked a little doubtful, and said, "Are you quite sure of that?" "Perfectly sure," Cosimo repeated, with the same beautiful tact. "Don't suppose she'd look at me if there wasn't another man in London. Besides, if I wanted to be absurd, I might ask you why _you_ don't marry Walter!" Amory straightened her back and the pretty bluebell-stalk of her neck. She gave a rich little laugh. "Oh, just at present I'm having enough of marriage to last me for some time to come.... Cosimo," she added, in impressive tones, "Aunt Jerry's--_awful_!" "How, awful? (Just pull the edge round a bit, will you?")