“Perhaps,” he held out. “Some of it I will surely do; perhaps I’ll arrange a little class with your sister and Betty Sommers.”
“That will not be so nice,” she admitted. “But,” with seeming understanding of the expression that swept across his face, “if you think it best, mon capitaine, I’ll give them a share.”
Youth and faithfulness shone in her eyes again; and the frankness of childhood.
He collected his belongings, borrowed a book from her shelf and prepared to go.
“There!” she said. “I knew we had forgotten something. That horrid school thing hopped in between and spoiled it all.” She held the Browning open to “Andrea del Sarto.” “You were telling me your theory about married people, and why they don’t—keep on—keep on—”
“Oh, yes,” he helped. “Well, my theory is a very simple one. There is no patent on it, but no one seems to want to use it.” He knitted his brows and looked afar off. “I think young people ought to prepare ahead of time for all that’s to follow. They get lost in the beginnings—for there are beginnings, and there are middles and ends, each is different. They ought to prepare themselves to go on from one stage of affection into another, without surprise or suspicion of each other. And better, they should study all the little paths that tend to take them apart. Therefore, they should cultivate many of the same interests, insist upon having many associations together, and refuse to let a separate set of occupations absorb them too much—like housekeeping or whist playing for the woman, and selling cheeses, let us say, for the man. Memory is the thing that binds one’s life together; married people should see to it that they have many, many beautiful memories in common. There! that’s a long speech; and it’s my theory. There must be a flaw in it somewhere, or more folks would have adopted it. I have faith in it—I have faith, you notice, in all my theories. One should. If ever I have the chance to try it out, I’ll do my best to make it work.”
“It will work,” she said simply.
“That’s encouraging, now,” he laughed. “What makes you think so?”
“My theory is that the woman is always willing to have memories, the kind you speak of. It is the man who flies off to his own affairs and leaves her to just dig along.”
“Ah! Amazonian,” he cried. “That’s out of Gardiner!”