Silverbridge remained in
suspense, saying nothing by way of encouragement. Dolly, either in
love with his own mystery or doubtful of his own purpose, sat
still, looking eagerly at his companion. 'What the mischief is
it?' asked Silverbridge impatiently.
'I have quite made up my own mind.'
'That's a good thing at any rate.'
'I am not what you would have called a marrying sort of man.'
'I should have said,--no. But I suppose most men do marry sooner or
later.'
'That's just what I said to myself. It has to be done, you know.
There are three different properties coming to me. At least one
has come already.'
'You're a lucky fellow.'
'I've made up my mind; and when I say a thing I mean to do it.'
'But what can I do?'
'That's just what I'm coming to. If a man does marry I think he
ought to be attached to her.' To this, a broad proposition,
Silverbridge was ready to accede. But, regarding Dolly, a middle-
aged sort of fellow, one of those men who marry because it is
convenient to have a house kept for them, he simply nodded his
head.
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