"By that she means a stupid one, I suppose. Excellent husbands are invariably stupid. They always want to stay at home."
She appeared thoughtful. "And expect their wives to stay at home too."
"On the contrary, an excellent husband lets his wife go where she likes—without him."
"I am afraid you do not understand matrimony, Mr. Smart," she said, and changed the subject.
I am afraid that my mind wandered a little at this juncture, for I missed fire on one or two direct questions. Mrs. Titus was annoyed; it would not be just to her to say that she was offended. If she could but have known that my thoughts were of the day and minute when I so brutally caressed the Countess Tarnowsy, I fancy she would have changed her good opinion of me. To tell the truth, I was wondering just how the Countess would behave toward me, with the memory of that unforgettable incident standing between us. I had been trying to convince myself for a very long time that my fault was not as great in her eyes as it was in mine.
Along about five o'clock, I went to my room. I daresay I was sulking. A polite bell-boy tapped on my door at half-past six. He presented a small envelope to me, thanked me three or four times, and, as an afterthought, announced that there was to be an answer.
Whereupon I read the Countess's note with a magnificently unreadable face. I cleared my throat, and (I think) squared my shoulders somewhat as a soldier does when he is being commended for valour, and said:
"Present my compliments to the Countess, and say that Mr. Smart will be down in five minutes."
The boy stared. "The—the what, sir?"
"The what?" I demanded.