That was an excellent question, and Alfred would like to have answered it confidently, but the best he could do, really, was: "I think so." Which wasn't much, but his voice was riddled with optimism. He'd given this a good deal of thought in the abstract, and much more serious thought in the past two days, since Uncle H's admonishment about lengthy courtships.

"I've got a stable income," he pointed out. "But I got the impression he didn't approve of my being gone so often to earn it. So I've got an idea about that," he said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees as he explained. "Sailing instruction at the Sanditon. It would have me here every May through September, at least. And we could live at the terrace."

He paused, anxious. He thought Herbert Fudge would agree — they'd always been on good terms, and Alfred had lived at the Sanditon before. He hadn't actually asked, though, so this was all theoretical — no sense volunteering for a job he didn't actually particularly want unless it would make a difference with Brannon Fisk. Hence being here talking to Ari; he wanted to know there was a chance, before he went rearranging his life.

"What do you think?" he asked nervously.