“Are you sorry that you ever married?”
“No-o-o,” said the other reflectively, “because I never could have known the joy of being a widow any other way, you know.”
“Would you advise me to marry,” Molly inquired; “one can’t be sure of the widowhood, and if one has courage and self-denial a life of single blessedness is attainable for any woman.”
“I don’t believe it is for you, though.”
“Why not, pray?”
“Your eyes are all wrong; old maids never have such eyes.”
“I got my eyes from my father.”
“Well, he wasn’t an old maid, surely?”
“No, he was a captain in the Irish Dragoons.”