"I meant 'married,'" she explained.
"I?" he said. "Good heavens!"
"Don't be so astonished!—such a thing has happened to men."
"Yes, but I'm not a marrying man."
"I think most men say they aren't marrying men till they say, 'Will you marry me?' It's a pity they change their mind so often."
"I have pitied them myself."
"Them?" she said. "The girls, you mean! A man begins to be in love much sooner than a woman, but he finishes much sooner too."
"Well, that's why marriage was invented," said Conrad. "The man brings the fervour, and the woman brings the faithfulness. You can't combine better qualities."
"Yes, and what about his fervour afterwards? He wants to go and be in love all over again. Haven't I seen? In this profession, travelling about, a girl often meets a good fellow; I don't say he's often rich—the ones who mean well are generally hard up. Perhaps he's a clerk, or something, in the town. He's taken with her from the 'front,' and gets to know her. Then he waits for her at the stage door every evening, and sees her home, and makes her talk 'shop'—he always makes her talk 'shop,' that's the fascination to him. After she goes away, he writes to her, and by-and-by perhaps they marry. They do sometimes. Of course she's to leave the stage; he generally asks for that—the kind of man I'm talking about. Well, what's the result?"
"She's sorry she gave it up."