"Bravissimo!" cried Spenee, laughing. "I see that my cousin Miriam is not the only person who has progressed during these years. Do you remember a certain conversation of ours at Posillipo about the education of a certain young lady?"
"Yes, I do. But that was a different matter. The question was not of Greek statues and classical books, but of modern pruriencies and shallowness and irresponsibility."
"You exaggerated then, and you do so now," said Spence; "at present with less excuse."
Mallard kept silence for a space; then said:
"Let us speak of what we have been avoiding. How has that marriage turned out?"
"I have told you all I know. There's no reason to suppose that things are anything but well."
"I don't like her coming abroad alone; I have no faith in that plea of work. I suspect things are not well."
"A cynic—which I am not—would suggest that a wish had something to do with the thought."
"He would be cynically wrong," replied Mallard, with calmness.
"Why shouldn't she come abroad alone? There's nothing alarming in the fact that they no longer need to see each other every hour. And one takes for granted that they, at all events, are not bourgeois; their life won't be arranged exactly like that of Mr. and Mrs. Jones the greengrocers."