“And you do not like them very much?”
“I do not exactly know.”
He laughed there. It vexed me, and I was silent.
“I think it a mistake when the girls are put in one family and the boys in another. Sisters generally soften boys, tone them down, and give them a tender grace.”
“And what are the brothers’ graces?” I asked.
“Boys have numberless virtues, we must concede,” he returned laughingly. “I think they perfect your patience, broaden your ideas, and add a general symmetry. They keep you from getting too set in your ways.”
I saw him smile down into my face in the soft moonlight, and it did annoy me. Men are always thinking themselves so superior!
“Our mother died when Stuart was a baby. She was always an invalid. But the summer I spent with your mother is such a sunny little oasis in my life, that I wanted the boys to have at least one pleasant memory. I suppose I am selfish—one of the strong points of the sex.”
“O,” I said, “I thought you were all virtues.”
“We have just about enough faults to preserve ballast. But perhaps you do not like the idea of their coming.”