Just now it happened to be the
morning's paper that Victorine had left on the table. For five
minutes Condy had been picking it up and laying it down, frowning
abstractedly at it during the pauses in the conversation.
Suddenly he became aware of what it was, and instantly read aloud
the first item that caught his glance:
"'Personal.--Young woman, thirty-one, good housekeeper, desires
acquaintance respectable middle-aged gentleman. Object,
matrimony. Address K. D. B., this office.'--Hum!" he commented,
"nothing equivocal about K. D. B.; has the heroism to call herself
young at thirty-one. I'll bet she IS a good housekeeper. Right
to the point. If K. D. B. don't see what she wants, she asks for
it."
"I wonder," mused Blix, "what kind of people they are who put
personals in the papers. K. D. B., for instance; who is she, and
what is she like?"
"They're not tough," Condy assured her. "I see 'em often down at
'The Times' office. They are usually a plain, matter-of-fact
sort, quite conscientious, you know; generally middle-aged--or
thirty-one; outgrown their youthful follies and illusions, and
want to settle down."
"Read some more," urged Blix. Condy went on.
"'Bachelor, good habits, twenty-five, affectionate disposition,
accomplishments, money, desires acquaintance pretty, refined girl.
Object, matrimony. McB., this office.'"
"No, I don't like McB.," said Blix. "He's too--ornamental,
somehow."
"He wouldn't do for K.
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