And he was once again enchanted by her naïveté.
"You shall have the pick of all my man-friends," he said, and then puzzled her by laughing.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Oh, you're so perfect, dearest!" he said, and got up and kissed her.
It needed some thought, none the less. Of his old pals—he suddenly remembered that he had been married over a year now, and not seen any one of them or wanted to—there were not many who lived near, and some of these ... well, they were all right in their way, but vaguely he felt they were not quite fit to introduce to any one so sweet as his girl-wife.... Marriage frequently turns cynics into sentimentalists. (The converse can be well ignored.)
"I know," he cried suddenly.
"I felt sure you would," she said. It was just these remarks that made her such an excellent companion. "Who is it then?"
"Old Boyd—old Kenneth Boyd. He's just the very man you'd like. One feels so awfully at home with him, he's restful you know; old-friend-in-five-minutes sort of fellow. Oh and," he added, "I forgot just for the moment! There is a wife too."
"I think I'm almost sorry," said Helena reflectively. "I don't think he sounds the sort of person who'd be much good unless alone. But I'm so silly with words. I never can explain and I expect I'm wrong."
There seemed, at any rate, some wisdom in her cryptic estimate.