Hubert commended his wisdom in not marrying.
“The only person I could conceivably marry would be my cook; in that case there would be no romance to spoil, no vision to destroy.”
“I fear this is a cloak for a poor opinion of our sex, Professor.”
“On the contrary. I admire your sex too much to think of subjecting them to such an ordeal. I could not endure to regard a woman I had once admired, as a matter of course, a commonplace in my existence.”
Henriette plunged headlong into the fray, in opposition to the Professor’s heresy. The conversation became general.
Professor Theobald fell out of it. He was furtively watching Hadria, whose eyes were strangely bright. She was sitting on the arm of a seat, listening to the talk, with a little smile on her lips. Her hand clasped the back of the seat rigidly, as if she were holding something down.
The qualities and defects of the female character were frankly canvassed, each view being held with fervour, but expressed with urbanity. Women were always so and so; women were absolutely never so and so: women felt, without exception, thus and thus; on the contrary, they were entirely devoid of such sentiments. A large experience and wide observation always supported each opinion, and eminent authorities swarmed to the standard.
“I do think that women want breadth of view,” said Lady Engleton.
“They sometimes want accuracy of statement,” observed Professor Theobald, with a possible second meaning in his words.
“It seems to me they lack concentration. They are too versatile,” was Hubert’s comment.