“Neither; I ruled him with a rod of iron.”
“But do you think I’m wise to wait like this before marrying her?” Michael asked.
“There’s no wisdom in waiting to do an unwise thing.”
“You’re so sure it is unwise?”
“All marriages are unwise,” said Mrs. Carthew sharply. “That’s why everybody gets married. For most people it is the only imprudence they have an opportunity of committing. After that, they’re permanently cured of rashness, and settle down. There are exceptions, of course: they take to drink. I must say I’m greatly pleased with these long-spurred columbines.”
Michael thought she had finished the discussion of his marriage, but suddenly she said:
“I thought I told you to come and see me when you went down from Oxford.”
“I ought to have come,” Michael agreed rather humbly. He always felt inclined to propitiate the old lady.
“Here we have the lamentable result. Marriage at twenty-three.”
“Alan married at twenty-three,” he pointed out.