"Certainly," said John.
"Well, then, there is nothing better for you to do than to get a fellowship and hold it as long as you can, and during that time you can make up your mind." She spoke with conviction, and the plan seemed good. "But I cannot imagine," she continued, "why you should ask my advice."
"And not to marry?" inquired John nervously.
"There is plenty of time to think of that when you are thirty—even five and thirty is not too late."
"Dear me!" exclaimed John, "I think that is much too old!"
"Do you call me old?" asked Mrs. Goddard serenely. "I was thirty-one on my last birthday."
For the twentieth time, John felt himself growing uncomfortably hot. Not only had he said an unconscionably stupid thing, but Mrs. Goddard, after advising him not to marry for ten years, had almost hinted that she might meanwhile be married herself. What else could she mean by the remark? But John was hardly a responsible being on that day. His views of life and his understanding were equally disturbed.
"No indeed," he protested on hearing her confession of age. "No indeed—why, you are the youngest person I ever saw, of course. But with men—it is quite different."
"Is it? I always thought women were supposed to grow old faster than men. That is the reason why women always marry men so much older than themselves."
"Oh—in that case—I have nothing more to say," replied John in very indistinct tones. The perspiration was standing upon his forehead; the room swam with him and he felt a terrible, prickly sensation all over his body.