"I do," I answered proudly.
"And he thinks you are the prettiest little creature he ever saw, so he wants you for his," she kept on, analyzing my feelings and his with such a persistent accuracy that I found myself hoping my bridal advice would be given me by some one with less power of character delineation than is possessed by a lady novelist.
"Ann, when a middle-aged man marries a young woman, especially if the man has money, he is likely to treat his wife less like a wife than a—mistress. He showers her with violets, kisses, diamonds; but he neither burdens her with his troubles nor calls upon her for help. Now, this may be pleasant for the woman, if she be a certain type of woman, who marries a man to be 'taken care' of, but it is not conducive to character development. If the man is poor and the woman has to cook she has a better chance to enter the kingdom of heaven; but this is a rare opportunity, for a young woman seldom marries a middle-aged poor man."
"But surely you don't think that I am marrying Richard for his money?"
There was no reproach in my tone; I was simply astounded that any one could take such a view of the matter.
"Certainly not in cold-blood," she answered. "I think you are bewildered—hypnotized by the halo which you have placed upon his head; and the glitter of the man's amazing good looks."
"The halo was already there," I corrected, but not so staunchly as my conscience made me feel that I should have done. Cousin Eunice has a disagreeably convincing tone in argument.
"His good looks, while undeniably there, are enhanced by the luxury with which he surrounds himself—his handsome clothes are a distinct asset. Can you deny it?"
"Certainly not! And his cigars are a joy. When I shook out my hair last night it was fragrant with the odor. He smoked, you know, out on the balcony."
"Ah, and then you thought that your hair was a halo—because it had the odor of his cigars in it!"