"Thank you," said Jan, but without enthusiasm.
"We are neither of us quite young"—(Mr. Withells was forty-nine, but it was a little hard on Jan)—"and I feel sure that you, for instance, would not expect or desire from a husband those constant outward demonstrations of affection such as handclaspings and kisses, which are so foolish and insanitary."
Jan turned extremely red and walked rather faster.
"Do not misunderstand me, Miss Ross," Mr. Withells continued, looking with real admiration at her downcast, rosy face—she must be quite healthy he thought, to look so clean and fresh always—"I lay down no hard-and-fast rules. I do not say should my wife desire to kiss me sometimes, that I should ... repulse her."
Jan gasped.
"But I have the greatest objection, both on sanitary and moral grounds to——"
"I can't imagine anyone wanting to kiss you," Jan interrupted furiously; "you're far too puffy and stippled."
And she ran from him as though an angry bull were after her.
Mr. Withells stood stock-still where he was, in pained astonishment.
He saw the fleeing fair one disappear into the