"Of course ... quite easily," answered Elly, in her superb serenity.
Hertha smiled surreptitiously at such denseness. "No, Mouse, you don't understand," she said. "I don't mean the woman who is his wife, but the woman who is married to some one else."
"That's what I mean too."
"And it seems to you quite natural?"
"Really, I should not have thought you so inexperienced," said the little lady. "One's bound to know such things. In old days it was much worse. The man who was a brave knight always loved the wife of some one else. To love his own would have been thought ridiculous.... It is all in König's 'Unabridged History of Literature.'"
Hertha had become very thoughtful. "Ah! the olden times," she said, with a faint smile. "It's no good talking of them. They tilted at tournaments then, and killed each other with their lances for fun!"
"And to-day," said Elly in a whisper, raising herself in bed with the wide eyes of a child reading a fairy tale, "to-day they shoot each other dead with pistols for a joke instead."
Hertha felt a stab at her hearty and the little rosy daughter of Eve went on.
"I should think it lovely to have such an unhappy affair when married.... For, you know, most of the romantic love stories are of this kind."
"Who told you so?"