"Your husband talks," smiled the Bride very faintly.
"Oh—beautifully," I admitted. "But not to me! It doesn't seem to be quite compatible with established romance somehow, this talking business, between husbands and wives."
"Romance?" rallied the Bride. "Would you call Mr. Delville ex—exactly romantic!"
"Oh—very!" I boasted. "But not conversationally."
"But I wanted to talk," said the Bride, very slowly.
"Why, of course, you did, you dear darling!" I cried out impulsively. "Most brides do! You wanted to discuss and decide in about thirty minutes every imaginable issue that is yet to develop in all the long glad years you hope to have together! The friends you are going to build. Why you haven't even glimpsed a child's picture in a magazine, this the first week of your marriage, without staying awake half the night to wonder what your children's children's names will be."
"How do you know?" asked the Bride, a bit incisively.
"Because once I was a Bride myself," I said. "But this Paul of yours," I insisted. "This Paul of yours, you see, hasn't finished wondering yet about just you——!"
"For Heaven's sake," called my own husband through the half open doorway, "what's all this pow-wow about?"
"About husbands," I answered, quite frankly. "An argument in fact as to whether taken all in all a husband is ever very specially amusing to talk to."