The Sentimentalist hesitated.
“His son told me so,” she said, at last.
There was a pause while the Philosopher lit his pipe.
“Well! A son seldom knows his father’s affairs,” he said, “not if the father is a wise man! And I should say old Durham was very wise,—almost cunning! That is, if I am anything of a judge of character.”
The pretty Sylvia looked at him sideways, wondering whether he considered himself such a “judge.” He had all the air of a clever man, and just at the moment his rather worn features had an expression of benevolence and kindly interest which rendered them more than usually pleasing.
“He can be quite nice and charming if he likes,” she thought. “But how seldom he does like!”
“I should not wonder,” resumed the Philosopher, “if he were to marry.”
Sylvia laughed.
“Marry? Mr. Durham?—What an impossible idea!”
“Nothing is impossible,” said the Philosopher, “to a man if he makes up his mind. Americans in particular are notorious for their habit of doing so-called ‘impossible’ things. From rolling over Niagara Falls in a barrel to reaching the moon by rocket, they assert and assume capability for creating and overcoming difficulties. In affairs of marriage they tie and untie the knot with a celerity which can only be compared to the skill of the Davenport brothers. You have heard of those worthies? They used to allow themselves to be bound hand and foot inside a cupboard—members of their audience would tie the cords in the most frightfully exhausting manner,—and then when they had been fastened up as tightly as possible and the cupboard shut upon them, in one minute they stepped out untied and at liberty. An American marriage is just like that,—you take your man and woman, tie them up and shut them in a cupboard—and lo!—before you know where you are they have stepped out, separated and free! Amazingly clever!—and one can seldom see how the trick is done!”