“Oh, there are lots of other confessions. Just wait.”
“Out with them!”
“I don’t know anything.”
“That’s something,” admitted Paul.
“And you must teach me.”
“Oh, this docile little 1840 wife! Don’t you know the suffragists will get you if you talk meek like that? What do you want to know? Volts, and dynamos, and induction coils?”
“Everything,” said Lydia comprehensively, “that you know. Books, politics, music—”
“Lord! what a hash! What makes you think I know anything about such things?”
“Why, you went through Cornell. You must know about books. And you’re a man, you must know about politics; and as for music, we’ll learn about that together. Aunt Julia and Godfather are going to give us a piano-player—though I know they can’t afford it, the dears!”
“People are good to us.” Paul’s flush of gratitude for his good fortune continued.