“I should say not,” chimed Kitty. “Husbands are always tired of wives, their own, I mean, inside of five years.”
“Well, if it comes to that,” said Eveley honestly, “I suppose wives are tired of their own husbands, too. But they are so stubborn they won’t admit it. In their hearts I suppose they are quite as sick of their husbands as their husbands are of them.”
“Eve,” said Nolan anxiously, “where are you getting all these wicked notions? Marriage is the most sacred—”
“Institution. I know it. Every one says marriage is a sacred institution, and so is a church. But nobody wants to live with one permanently.”
“But, Eveley, the sanctity of the—”
“Home. Sure, we know it is sanctified. But monotonous. Deadly monotonous.”
“Eve,” and his voice was quite tragic, “don’t you feel that the divine sphere of—”
“Woman. You needn’t finish it, Nolan; we know it as well as you do. The divine sphere of woman is in the sanctified home keeping up the sacred institution of marriage while her husband—oh, tralalalalalala.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll go you,” cried Kitty suddenly, leaping up from the floor, and waving her hand. “Europe! You and I together.”
“She has come to,” said Eileen resignedly. “There’s an end of sensible talk for this evening.”