With infinite care Roland led the conversation to a discussion of the mentality of women. He enlarged on a favorite theme of his—the fact that girls often fell in love with really ugly men. “I can’t understand it,” he said. “Girls are such delicate, refined creatures. They want the right colored curtains in their bedrooms and the right colored cushion for their sofas; they spend hours discussing the right shade of ribbon for their hair, and then they go and fall in love with a ridiculous-looking man. Look at Morgan, now. He’s plain and he’s bald and he’s got an absurd, stubby mustache, and yet his wife is frightfully pretty, and she seems really keen on him. I don’t understand it.”
Brewster agreed that it was curious, and helped himself to another cake.
“I suppose,” said Roland, “that a fellow like you knows a good deal about girls?”
Brewster shook his head. The subject presented few attractions to him.
“No,” he said, “I don’t really know anything at all about them. I haven’t got a sister.”
“But you don’t learn about girls from your sister.”
“Perhaps not. But if you haven’t got a sister you don’t run much chance of seeing anyone else’s. We don’t know any decent ones. A few of my friends have sisters, but they seem pretty fair asses. I keep out of their way.”
“That’s rather funny, you know, because you’re the sort of fellow that girls run after.”
As Roland had been discussing for some time the ugliness of the type of man that appealed most to girls, this was hardly a compliment. Brewster did not notice it, however. Indeed, he evinced no great interest in the conversation. He was enjoying his tea.
“Oh, I don’t think I am,” he said. “At any rate none of them have run after me, so far.”