"Yes, but what does one study at South Kensington?"
"I'm ashamed of you, Ted—particularly when you've told me about the theatre things to be seen there—costumes and pictures and all the Pre-Raphaelite designs for furnishings. Well, there is also a big technical school, too, and I'm going to study some of these things. I want to be useful, too."
I did not reply immediately. I think it is always a shock to discover that the woman one loves has a practical turn of mind. As a matter of fact, it is the woman who plans life, although the man is not always aware of it.
"Well, Ted, you didn't imagine life was all bread and cheese and kisses, did you?" she broke in upon me. "Of course, if you don't want me to study the things you really like, I won't."
Woman's illogical relentless logic is always unanswerable.
"I'm sorry you took me by surprise, dear," I apologized. "The truth is, I haven't planned our life very definitely."
"Then don't you think it is about time we did?"
I noted the change in pronouns. The horse slowed down to a walk, his breath drifting back from his nostrils like smoke from a dragon.
"I suppose we should," I admitted a little reluctantly. The practical aspects of living I was accustomed to think concerned only the contents of my laboratory. Once I closed that door behind me, I entered another world where no practical matters were ever considered. For the first time I realized that this was a sign of weakness of character. I sat up disturbed at this latter thought. The horse zig-zagged across the road at will.
"Chemistry isn't your real work, Ted—it never will be. You've admitted that a dozen times."