“But Monsieur von Ibn is so very singular!”
“Every man is singular!”
“My husband wasn’t. And he wasn’t ever the least bit jealous,” she stopped to sigh. “I like jealous men!” she added.
“Yes,” said Molly, dryly, “so I observed.”
“He never lost his temper either,” Rosina continued. “We never had anything to make up. And making up is so delicious. Oh, me!” she sighed, and her eyes filled with tears again.
“Never mind,” said Molly, consolingly, “you’ll soon be making it up this time.”
“Don’t you think,” said Rosina, slowly, “that he ought to have sent some sort of an apology last night; it could have been put under the door, no matter how late it was, you know?”
“He isn’t that sort of a man, I fancy.”
“But his behavior was so unpardonable!”
“Yes, but he doesn’t see that.”