Mrs. Jack: “I’ve lived twenty-five years and I have never seen a man’s unhappiness last more than six months, and I have never seen a woman make a wound in a man’s heart that another woman couldn’t heal. The modern young man is as tough as—well, I can’t think of anything tough enough to compare him to. I’ve always thought it a pity that the material of which men’s hearts is made couldn’t be utilized for manufacturing purposes; think of its value for hinges, or for the toes of little boys’ boots, or the heels of their stockings!”
Jack: “I should think you had just been jilted, my dear; how has Atlas offended you?”
Mrs. Jack: “He hasn’t offended me; I love him, but I think he is too absent-minded lately.”
Jack: “And is Egeria invited to join us in order that she may bring his mind forcibly back to the present?”
Mrs. Jack: “Not at all; I consider Atlas as safe as a—as a church, or a dictionary, or a guide-post, or anything; he is too much interested in tenement-house reform to fall in love with a woman.”
Jack: “I think a sensible woman wouldn’t be out of place in Atlas’ schemes for the regeneration of humanity.”
Mrs. Jack: “No; but Egeria isn’t a—yes, she is, too; I can’t deny it, but I don’t believe she knows anything about the sweating system, and she adores Ossian and Fiona Macleod, so she probably won’t appeal to Atlas in his present state, which, to my mind, is unnecessarily intense. The service of humanity renders a young man perfectly callous to feminine charms. It’s the proverbial safety of numbers, I suppose, for it’s always the individual that leads a man into temptation, if you notice, never the universal;—Woman, not women. I have studied Atlas profoundly, and he is nearly as blind as a bat. He paid no attention to my new travelling-dress last week, and yesterday I wore four rings on my middle finger and two on each thumb all day long, just to see if I could catch his eye and hold his attention. I couldn’t.”
Jack: “That may all be; a man may be blind to the charms of all women but one (and precious lucky if he is), but he is particularly keen where the one is concerned.”
Mrs. Jack: “Atlas isn’t keen about anything but the sweating system. You needn’t worry about him; your favourite Stevenson says that a wet rag goes safely by the fire, and if a man is blind, he cannot expect to be much impressed by romantic scenery. Atlas momentarily a wet rag and temporarily blind. He told me on Wednesday that he intended to leave all his money to one of those long-named regenerating societies—I can’t remember which.”
Jack: “And it was on Wednesday you sent for Egeria. I see.”