“You did quite right,” I said quietly. “And I shall not send word to any one. A day or so more anxiety doesn’t make much difference. It’s not as though they were my own people. They’re only acquaintances really—even Suzanne. And whoever wrote that note must have known—a great deal. It was not the work of an outsider.”
I managed to mention the note this time without blushing at all.
“If you would be guided by me——” he said, hesitating.
“I don’t expect I shall be,” I answered candidly. “But there’s no harm in hearing.”
“Do you always do what you like, Miss Beddingfeld?”
“Usually,” I replied cautiously. To any one else I would have said “Always.”
“I pity your husband,” he said unexpectedly.
“You needn’t,” I retorted. “I shouldn’t dream of marrying any one unless I was madly in love with them. And of course there is really nothing a woman enjoys so much as doing all the things she doesn’t like for the sake of some one she does like. And the more self-willed she is, the more she likes it.”
“I’m afraid I disagree with you. The boot is on the other leg as a rule.” He spoke with a slight sneer.
“Exactly,” I cried eagerly. “And that’s why there are so many unhappy marriages. It’s all the fault of the men. Either they give way to their women—and then the women despise them, or else they are utterly selfish, insist on their own way and never say ‘thank you.’ Successful husbands make their wives do just what they want, and then make a frightful fuss of them for doing it. Women like to be mastered, but they hate not to have their sacrifices appreciated. On the other hand, men don’t really appreciate women who are nice to them all the time. When I am married, I shall be a devil most of the time, but every now and then, when my husband least expects it, I shall show him what a perfect angel I can be!”