“He might be a misogynist,” suggested Jill.
“They are the easiest to get over because they imagine themselves invulnerable,” he replied. “I knew one once, but he married long ago. I forgot to ask him to explain the inconsistency, but it seems to have answered very well.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Jill gravely. Then catching his eye she smiled. “It would have been such a strong point against us if he had found it a mistake after all,” she explained.
He smiled too. There was something about St. John’s small wife that unconsciously attracted him; he could not help thinking what a capital friend she would make if a fellow were in trouble and in need of advice, though why he should arrive at such a conclusion he could not guess; so far they had exchanged nothing but very slight commonplaces.
“I feel I must contradict you there,” he said. “Had he found it a mistake it would most probably have been his fault; people with decided principles are generally difficult.”
“Don’t,” cried Jill, “you make me nervous. Jack may have decided principles for aught I know—he’s got a decided temper, and I’m horribly afraid Ilfracombe will make it worse.”
“So you propose spending the week at Ilfracombe?”
“Yes. I stayed there with my father once while he painted the Coast, so Jack is taking me there for auld lang syne.”
“It’s bracing,” struck in St. John, with a commendable determination to have nothing sad, not even reminiscences, on his wedding day. “Any place would do me, but the little woman really wants setting up.”
“You will be putting up at the ‘Ilfracombe,’ I suppose?” observed Mr Markham, conversationally.