“I am a solitary monarch,” he replied, “and yet—yes—I have a wife—a queen if you will.”
“Are you not interested?” he asked at length.
“Yes. I did not want to betray an impertinent curiosity.”
“We understand each other,” he went on easily. “If not, I should never have cultivated your acquaintance.”
“Then, as you know, it is my greatest pleasure to hear of others, provided I may do it without prying and without giving offence.”
“Well,” said he, whimsically, “my wife never attends social functions, neither does she entertain.”
“Indeed,” I interjected, and relapsed into silence.
“She is not quite the same as the spirits who reside here, and therefore she lives apart, and rarely visits with them.”
I began to wonder had he made a mésalliance, and yet he seemed scarcely the kind to have done so. Moreover, as I knew well, with spirits there is perfect equality—at least with the class of which he came.
“We have not been married very long,” he continued. “A few thousand years only. Before that I was—to use a familiar expression—a bachelor.”