‘Well, perhaps if duogamy had been the custom, she would have looked out for one,’ said Amoret, ‘most married women could find one alternative, I’m sure. But, any way, no plan is perfect, and there are lots of wives who wouldn’t want a second husband at all, and who would be only too glad of a restful period, when no dinners need be ordered. Then take the case of the Robinsons: Dick Jones adores Mrs Robinson and is utterly wretched because he can only be a friend to her. She is very fond of him, and fond of her husband too; she could make them both very happy if they would share her.’
‘I have often felt I could make two men happy,’ said Isolda. ‘Some of my best points are wasted on Launcelot. Then, too, he never tires of the country and his beloved golf, but I do, and when one of my fits of London-longing were to come over me I’d just run up to town and have a ripping time with my London husband.’
‘Without feeling you were doing anything wrong,’ supplemented Amoret, whose apparent experience of the qualms of conscience struck me as being rather suspicious.
‘It’s no good, girls,’ said Miranda, suddenly. ‘It’s no good—duogamy’s off! Think of the servants!’
‘Horrors, the servants!’ said Isolda, blankly.
‘Yes, I was afraid you would soon find out the one weak spot,’ said Amoret, regretfully. ‘Of course it would be awful having to cope with two lots of servants. One husband could afford to keep four or five, say, and the other only one or two, and each lot would get out of hand during the wife’s absence.’
‘So instead of having a perfectly deevy time with two husbands vying with each other in pleasing one, one would have a fearsome existence constantly breaking-in minions. Directly one had got A.’s servants into order, it would be time to go back to B. and do the same there.’
‘No; thank you,’ said Isolda, firmly, ‘one lot is enough for me. I’ve said dozens of times, for the servant reason alone, that I wish I had never married. It would be madness to actually double one’s burden. You can strike me off the list of duogamists, Amoret, until the Servant Question is solved by some new invention of machinery, or the importation of Chinese.’
‘Perhaps,’ Amoret suggested hopefully, ‘your alternative might consent to live in a hotel.’
‘No such luck,’ said Isolda, mournfully, ‘when a man marries it’s mostly for a home—why else should he marry unless it’s for the children? Good gracious! I’d forgotten all about the children. Of course that settles it.’