Mrs. Larue paused and considered whether she should venture further. She had already got as far as this two or three times without eliciting from her brother-in-law a word good or bad as to the matter which she had at heart. She had been like a boy who walks two miles to a pond, puts on his skates, looks at the thinly frozen surface, shakes his doubtful head, unbuckles his skates and trudges home again. She resolved to try the ice this time, at no matter what risk of breaking it.
"I have been thinking that he would not be a bad parti for my little cousin."
The Doctor laid aside his Robinsonites in some quiet corner of his mind, and devoted himself to the subject of the conversation, leaning forward and surveying Madame earnestly through his spectacles.
"I would almost rather bury her," he said in his excitement.
"You amaze me. There is a difference in age, I grant. But how little! He is still what we call a young man. And then marriages are so difficult to make up in these horrible times. Who else is there in all New Orleans?"
"I don't see why she should marry at all," said the Doctor very warmly. "Why can't she continue to live with me?"
"Positively you are not serious."
"I certainly am. I beg pardon for disagreeing with you, but I don't see why I shouldn't entertain the idea I mention."
"Oh! when it comes to that, there is no arguing. You step out of the bounds of reason into pure feeling and egoïsme. I also beg your pardon, but I must tell you that you are egoïste. To forbid a girl to marry is like forbidding a young man to engage in business, to work, to open his own carrière. A woman who must not love is defrauded of her best rights."
"Why can't she be satisfied with loving me?" demanded the Doctor. He knew that he was talking irrationally on this subject; but what he meant to say was, "I don't like Colonel Carter."