“Never met one?” he echoed, ironically. “Good heavens, where have you lived? Idle women swarm in every town and village—positively swarm—”
“No, they don’t,” interrupted Jack brusquely. “I’d just like you, sir, to do one day of a woman’s house-work!—you would not have much time for thought! Rich or poor she’s on the go and the grind all through!—especially if she has a husband and children to look after. And if not,—why, my spinster aunt out in California hasn’t an idle moment!”
“Wonderful!” and the Philosopher looked like a fluffy owl in the rain with its head on one side. “What does she—the spinster aunt—do, for example?”
Jack laughed, happily.
“What does she not do!” he exclaimed. “She makes all the preserves and sweets—mends the stockings—works in the garden—nurses sick neighbours—looks after orphan children—but there!—you wouldn’t be interested!”
“No, I’m afraid not!” and the Philosopher shook his head, gravely. “Preserves and sweets do appeal to me—but I prefer them manufactured rather than home produced,—and as for the rest of her energies, I think they might be better employed. However, we will not argue! I take off my hat to you”—here he suited the action to the word—“as a remarkable young man who has never met an idle woman! And I hope you will have all the amusement you expect in France!”
He made a kind of salute which comprehensively included the Sentimentalist as well as Jack and paced slowly on his way. Not till he was well out of hearing did Jack give vent to his feelings. He caught the little hand of the “rose-lady” conveniently near his own and give it an ardent squeeze.
“Promise me!” he said. “You have promised me;—but promise me again that you will not marry that cynical, selfish, mocking, old brute! He hasn’t an ounce of real feeling in his composition!”
She smiled rather sadly.
“Dear Jack, I shall not marry anybody!” she answered. “Certainly not this ‘clever’ man! I’m afraid you’re right—he has no feeling—only the other day he heard of the death of one of his oldest friends and all he said was, ‘Dear me! I shall miss him rather when I want a game at bowls!’”