She, who had always been skeptical of the joys of marriage, now passed beneath the adorned bower, sheepish at first then very quickly not caring a fig for the old way she’d thought. She was giddy and girlish discussing the wedding preparations. People remarked on the change in her. How original of her to choose Gilbert Finch, they said. They had expected an unusual choice, and it was the mere ordinariness of this which made it all the more unusual. They gazed now with new eyes on the bland, quiet figure of Gilbert Finch. He was, of course, pleased by the engagement, but if one were observing Gilbert Finch one would have detected no notable change in his behavior at all.

29 • What does he intend to do?

29 • What does he intend to do?

BUT WHAT does he intend to do? Mr. Eliot said, cutting his meat with deliberation.

He doesn’t intend to do anything, Pa.

Excuse me, Lilian. Mr. Eliot lifted his face like a blind man’s, flabbergasted by his daughter’s tone. I believe it is usual for a man to be concerned with his daughter’s prospects.

Sorry.

What was that?

I said I’m sorry, Pa.

I should hope so. Mr. Eliot chewed solemnly. I repeat my question: what does the young man intend to do?

Right now he’s working for the importing company …

I know that, Lilian. That much he has told me himself.

Dear, what Pa means is, what are his long-term plans? Mrs. Eliot had the unruffled manner she took on after her second cocktail.

He hasn’t decided, Lilian said. He doesn’t want to stay at the company forever.

Just what I’m getting at, said Mr. Eliot.

Whatever Gilbert does is fine with me, said Lilian. Anything he chooses to do …

Mr. Eliot murmured, Doesn’t need to choose, marrying you.

What? Lilian dropped her fork.

Pa’s just concerned about your future, said Mrs. Eliot. She smiled at the table, the picture of contentment.

I can speak for myself, Margaret.

Of course you can, dear.

Does Mr. Finch have any — ? Mr. Eliot began.

Arthur burst in breathlessly. Are we dissecting poor Gilbert? Well, I like him well enough. He’s no lemon.

Thank you, Lilian said.

Where have you been? said Mr. Eliot, not glancing anywhere near Arthur’s direction.

Oh, said Arthur with surprise, though his eyelids remained low, giving him a detached air, a trait he shared with his mother. Sorry I’m late.

Not an answer to my question, said Mr. Eliot.

Out, Arthur said. I was out and I didn’t realize the time. I do apologize.

Rude to Rosie as well, said Mr. Eliot, who was finding this dinner something of a dark cloud.

Arthur spread his napkin. As far as Rosie was concerned, Arthur could do no wrong.