"That's what I wanted to know. So even I have had my matrimonial possibilities examined into by matter-of-fact ladies, who sit at windows in their nightgowns, and look at the moon! I didn't like to ask more directly. Now tell me what's wrong with me?"
Her eyebrows rose mirthfully. "Are we playing truths, or shall I let you down easily?"
"I want the truth."
"Well, if your father lost his money, or disinherited you, you couldn't support a wife."
"Decision deferred," I said.
"You would begin married life with the highest and most generous resolutions; your subsequent fall would be all the harder for your wife to bear. You have a certain something about you that few really good men have, that attracts women. How long could you let that power rest without experimenting to see if you still had it? Not very long. You are the kind of man whose wife doesn't dare to have a good-looking maid."
"There," I said somewhat nettled, "you do me an injustice."
"You are a faithful friend," she said, "but you wouldn't be a faithful lover. Change and excitement and risk are bread and meat to you."
"Look here," I said, laughing, "you've not only considered me, you've considered me more than once, and seriously!"
"You have always," she said, "charmed me far more than was good for me."