Mr. Mix sneezed unexpectedly. There was a cold draught on the back of his neck, but as Mirabelle said nothing about closing the window, he hesitated to ask permission. “I’ve always wondered what effect it would have had on your––public career––if you hadn’t preferred to remain single.”
“My opinions aren’t annuals, Mr. Mix. They’re hardy perennials.”
“I know, but do you think a married woman ought to devote herself entirely to public affairs? Shouldn’t she consider marriage almost a profession in itself?”
“Well, I don’t know about that. Duty’s duty.”
“Oh, to be sure. But would marriage have interfered with your career? Would you have let it? Or is marriage really the higher duty of the two?”
“There’s something in that, Mr. Mix. I never did believe a married woman ought to be in the road all the time.”
“It was a question of your career, then?”
Mirabelle put down her cup. “Humph! No, it wasn’t. Right man never asked me.”
Mr. Mix’s mind was on tiptoe. “But your standards are so lofty––naturally, they would be.” He paused. “I wonder what your standard really is. Is it––unapproachable? Or do you see some good in most of us?”