Free The Towers of Love by Stephen; Birmingham Page A

life for you, darling, because I’m certainly not—but I did have one thought.”
    â€œWhat was that?” he asked her.
    â€œIt occurred to me, now that you have all this money, you might just start an advertising agency of your own, mightn’t you? I mean, who needs Joe Wallace? Why not start your own company? I’m not saying you should do it, of course. It’s just an idea.”
    â€œYes, it’s an idea,” he said.
    â€œBut—you do as you wish. You’re your own man, darling. You’re very much your own man, and I’m proud of you.” She smiled at him. “Drink up!” she said. “And eat. Your dinner’s getting cold and your champagne’s getting warm. Pappy! More champagne, Pappy! No one’s had nearly enough to drink.”
    He took another swallow from his glass. “Say,” he said, “you were going to tell me about the mystery guest to-morrow night. Who is it?”
    â€œOh!” she cried. “For give me! Well, guess. Just guess.”
    â€œI just can’t guess.”
    â€œTry. It has to do with Pansy.”
    â€œI still can’t.”
    â€œWell, our little Pansy is engaged .”
    â€œNo kidding?” he said. “Well, say, that’s wonderful.”
    â€œYes,” she said. “Yes. Unofficially, of course. Nothing in the papers yet. More champagne for Mr. Hugh, Pappy. We’re trying to get sozzled. Yes,” she repeated. “I suppose it is.”
    â€œWhy do you just suppose it is? Who is the guy?”
    â€œOh, I mean I suppose our Pansy had to marry some body, didn’t she? I mean she’s too pretty not to marry anybody, and end up an old maid like Reba. So I suppose it is wonderful.”
    â€œWell, who is he?”
    â€œHis name is Austin Callender. I’ve met him. He’s very nice.”
    â€œYou like him then? You approve?”
    â€œOh, yes, I approve. He’s one of the Callenders. From Boston. He’s Andover ’fifty-one, Harvard ’fifty-five. Hasty Pudding and all that rot. Spee Club. Too bad it couldn’t be Porcellian, but Spee will have to do. Very rich, not bad-looking, very dull—perfect for Pansy.”
    â€œWell,” he said again, “I think it’s wonderful. She—I suppose she loves him.”
    â€œOh, she insists she adores him. And he insists he adores her. They were here for a week-end. He was very sweet. He said, ‘I hope you’ll forgive me for wanting to take your beautiful daughter away from you, Mrs. Carey.’ As though I were Mother Carey and Pansy were one of my chickens! I said something very witty and original. I said, ‘Don’t be silly, Austin. I’m not losing a daughter. I’m gaining a son.’ And do you know what he said then?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe said—‘Gee, thank you, Mrs. Carey.’ He’s a stockbroker.’
    â€œWell, I still think it’s nice.”
    â€œYes. Nice is exactly what it is. I mean, he’s perfect for Pansy. She needs somebody exactly like that.”
    â€œYou didn’t have anyone else picked out for her, did you?”
    â€œNo, not really. Oh, of course if I were picking husbands for Pansy—which obviously would be impossible—I might have picked someone a little more exciting. A prince, for instance, or at least an ambassador. But this one will do, I guess, as well as any other.”
    â€œYou don’t sound exactly overjoyed about it,” he said.
    â€œIt’s taking me a little time to get used to it, that’s all,” she said. “Oh, he’s very substantial. All that side of the Callender family—he’s Henry Callender’s son, his mother was a Mead—are substantial. Of course there are other Callenders, and thank God he’s not one of them. He said to me, ‘Mrs. Carey, I want you to know that I have a private income of ten thousand a year.’ I said,