“But I really don’t think,” he went on, “that marriage would suit you. I doubt if you would keep a husband six months!”
She stopped the flash of her needle through her work.
“I should not ‘keep’ a husband six days!” she said, quietly. “I should expect him to keep himself!—and me!”
“So like a woman to twist a meaning out of what was never meant!” retorted the Philosopher. “Your mind, being feminine, at once seizes on the wrong view of the subject. My suggestion was that, being full of sentiment, you would expect sentiment in a husband. You would not find it—you would be disappointed,—or ‘wounded’—I think ‘wounded’ is the favourite expression women use in regard to their feelings,—you would consider him a brute, and he would consider you a bore—and it would be all over!”
She nodded, resuming her sewing.
“Yes,” she agreed. “It would be all over.”
Her swift acquiescence irritated him.
“I’m glad you have the sense to see it—” he began, in a raspy voice.
“Why, of course!” she interrupted him, with a light laugh. “If I considered him a brute and he considered me a bore, we should have nothing in common, and we should separate and go our different ways.”
“Oh, that’s how you’d settle it!” and the Philosopher gave a dubious grunt. “But, if you had a husband, he would be your master, and any arrangement of that kind would have to be made to suit him, and not you!”