"Yes," sighed Miss Lee; "but it hasn't in this case. They've just grown apart. They are never together. She goes her way and he goes his, and their paths never seem to meet. It is very sad, because she was such an exceedingly fine girl. So many marriages end unhappily."
Drusilla sniffed.
"I guess if they was poor people and had to work or if she had to git the dinner for her man and wonder if he liked chicken with dumplings better'n with saleratus biscuit, she wouldn't find time to want to go to Paris. The trouble with the rich women around here is that they are thinkin' too much of how to pass the time, instead of doin' somethin' for their men."
"But what can they do? They all have servants to do the work for them. You can't expect women like Mrs. Carrington to cook." And Miss Lee plainly showed what she thought of a woman who cooked.
"No, I suppose they can't cook; but a man's a man, and he likes to feel that his woman is thinkin' about him and what he'll eat, and not leave it all to a servant. A man's like a baby: he wants a lot of attention, especially about his vittles. Now I know John don't like some things and he does like others, and I see he gits 'em; and I know he likes to smoke just as soon as he's done eatin', and I see that his pipe and tobacco is put where he can reach it when he's havin' his coffee. It ain't much, but it tells him I'm thinkin' about his comfort, and men like their comfort in their own way."
Miss Lee was quiet a few moments.
"You—you are speaking of—of—this old gentleman who is living here?"
Drusilla looked up suddenly.
"John ain't so old. He's only two years older'n me, and I don't call myself old yet—unless it's to git me out of doin' somethin' that I don't like to do, like makin' calls."
"Is—is Mr. Brierly a relation of yours?"