He kissed and patted my hand again.

"Start with hate, passionate love, indifference, revolt, disgust--what
you will--all husbands at the end of a year inspire the same feeling,
one of complacent monotony--that is, if they are not altogether
brutes--and from the description of madame, _ce jeune_ Gurrage is at
least _un brave garçon_."

I am of a practical nature, and a thought struck me forcibly. When
could Mr. Gurrage have made the _demande_?

"How did Mr. Gurrage ask for my hand?" I ventured to question
grandmamma.

She looked at the Marquis, and the Marquis looked back at her, and
polished his eye-glasses.

At last grandmamma spoke.

"That is not the custom here, Ambrosine, but from what I have observed
he will take the first opportunity of asking you himself."

Here was something unpleasant to look forward to! It would be bad
enough to have to go through the usual period of formal _fiançailles_
of the sort I have always been brought up to expect--but to endure
being made love to by Augustus Gurrage! That was enough to daunt the
stoutest heart. However, having agreed to obey grandmamma, I could not
argue. I only waited for directions. There was a pause, not agreeable
to any of us, and then grandmamma spoke.