“Break it gently, Fred, gently.”
“He thinks that a true woman esteems it her highest privilege to—well, to be like Mrs. Gordon.”
“Wise and learned youth!” cried Hadria, resting her chin on her hand, and peering up into the blue sky, above the temple.
“Fool!” exclaimed Algitha.
“He says,” continued Fred, determined not to spare those who were so overbearing in their scorn, “he says that girls who have ideas like yours will never get any fellow to marry them.”
Laughter loud and long greeted this announcement.
“Laughter,” observed Fred, when he could make himself heard, “is among the simplest forms of argument. Does this merry outburst imply that you don’t care a button whether you are able to get some one to marry you or not?”
“It does,” said Algitha.
“Well, so I said to Wilkins, as a matter of fact, with my nose in the air, on your behalf, and Wilkins replied, ‘Oh, it’s all very well while girls are young and good-looking to be so high and mighty, but some day, when they are left out in the cold, and all their friends married, they may sing a different tune.’ Feeling there was something in this remark,” Fred continued, “I raised my nose two inches higher, and adopted the argument that I also resort to in extremis. I laughed. ‘Well, my dear fellow,’ Wilkins observed calmly, ‘I mean no offence, but what on earth is a girl to do with herself if she doesn’t marry?’”
“What did you reply?” asked Ernest with curiosity.