The Compleat Bachelor — Oliver Onions

"Do you know, Butterfield," Bassishaw said, "I don't know how you get along--that is--get along, you know--as you do." The remark didn't seem particularly illuminating, but he had been silent for ten minutes, and this appeared to be the result of his cogitation. "No?" I said encouragingly. "Well, you know what I mean," he replied. "I mean how you manage--in the way you do, you know; never to--you've never--hang it, Butterfield, why don't you get married?" "Oh!" I answered, "I see. Of course. I didn't quite catch the idea at first. Of course. Why don't I get married." "Yes," he replied, much relieved. "You--you should, you know. It's the finest thing in the world--being engaged, that is. You Ve no idea, really, Butterneld." He seemed quite eager about it. I put my feet comfortably on the fender, and waited for him to expand. He kept his eyes on the fire. "You know," he went on slowly," you'll feel awfully lonely and all that--soon, that is--when Caroline goes, I mean." Matchmaking is never a man's line; he draws back at the very intimate point he should press home. Arthur did his best. Mrs. Loring had probably been talking to him. "I shall miss her very much," I replied, "very much indeed; but to whom do you propose to marry me?" He seemed rather abashed, and a trifle impatient. "Don't be an ass," he said. I could not be certain, owing to the firelight, that he blushed, but I chanced it. I didn't object to these palpable attempts to marry me to Millicent Dixon; but it was disparaging to my intelligence that I should be supposed not to notice them. Anyway, the male element was a new feature in the alliance. "And do you think that she and I would be a well-matched pair?" I asked. He professed a hypocritical ignorance as to whom I meant. I laughe...