“Yes?” and the pretty uplift of her eyebrows emphasized the question. “Thank goodness I haven’t a husband yet!—and if your ideas of marriage are likely to be true I hope I never shall have one!”
“You see,” said the Philosopher, folding his arms and hugging himself comfortably, “you are a little person who cannot bear to be contradicted, and a husband would probably contradict you twenty or fifty times a day. His opinions would always differ from yours. The man’s point of view is entirely the reverse of the woman’s. A man’s idea of love—” He paused.
“It is difficult to explain, isn’t it?” she queried, sweetly. “I’m afraid you couldn’t put it nicely!”
“Put it nicely?” he echoed. “What do you mean? Put it nicely?”
“Well, I’m afraid I couldn’t put it nicely myself,” she said, demurely, “because—you see—sometimes a man’s idea of love isn’t nice!”
He unfolded his arms and stared at her.
“Isn’t nice!” he repeated. “What is it then? Nasty?”
She laughed.
“Perhaps! Anyway it’s nearly always selfish!”
“Oh, that’s the way you look at it, is it? And is not woman’s idea of love quite as selfish?”