“The best reason,” she agreed. “But in your case insufficient, and I’ll tell you why—you aren’t old enough yet to know what you do want.”
“Twenty-three,” Michael reminded her.
“Twenty-fiddlesticks!” she snapped. “And isn’t there a good deal of opposition?”
“A good deal.”
“And no doubt you feel a fine romantical heroical young fellow?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, I’m not going to argue against your marrying her,” said Mrs. Carthew. “Because I know quite well that the more I proved you to be wrong, the more you’d be determined to prove I was. But I can give you advice about marriage, because I’ve been married and you haven’t. Is she dark? If she’s dark, be very cold for a year, and if she doesn’t leave you in that time, she’ll adore you for the rest of her life.”
“But she’s fair,” said Michael. “Very fair indeed.”
“Then beat her. Not actually, of course; but beat her figuratively for a year. If you don’t, she’ll either be a shrew or a whiner. Both impossible to live with.”
“Which did Captain Carthew do to you?” asked Michael, twinkling.