‘Pshaw! He has no right to think of a wife these dozen years.’
‘Not even think? When he is not to have one at any rate till he is a field officer!’
‘And he is a fool to have one then. A mere encumbrance to himself and the entire corps.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Albinia, ‘she always gets the best cabin.’
‘And that is no place for her! No man, as I have told Fred over and over again, ought to drag a woman into hardships for which she is not fitted, and where she interferes with his effectiveness and the comfort of every one else.’
The identical lecture of twelve years since, when he had feared Albinia’s becoming this inconvenient appendage! If he had repeated it on all like occasions, she did not wonder that it had wearied his aide-de-camp.
‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘the backwoods may have fitted Miss Emily for the life; and I can’t but be glad of Fred’s having been steady to anything.’
Considering this speech like the Kehama days, the General went on to dilate on the damage that marriage was to the ‘service,’ removing the best officers, first from the mess, and then from the army.
‘What a pity William was born too late to be a Knight of St. John!’ said Albinia.
All laughed, but she doubted whether he were pleased, for he addressed himself to one of the aunts, while Maurice spoke to her in an under tone—‘I believe he is quite right. Homes are better for the individual man, but not for the service. How remarkably the analogy holds with this other service!’