Grizel tossed her head.
“I am never blasé. It’s impossible that I ever could be. Life interests me too much. The more difficult it is, the more absorbing it becomes. But I’m sorry for the poor little ignorant brides who believe so implicitly in the ‘happy-ever-after’ theory, that they take no trouble to make it come true. I’m twenty-eight, nearly twenty-nine, and I’ve no illusions on the point. My husband and I are gloriously happy, but I know we shan’t go on at the same level, unless I work hard to keep it up.”
“I! Why not we? Surely it’s a mutual affair?”
“Yes, but bless ’em! men are not adaptive, and most of them are so busy making the bread and butter, and too tired when that’s over, to bother about anything more! It’s the women who have to do the fitting in. That brings us back to where we started. I’m trying to think ahead, and prepare myself for the horrible moment when Martin wants to talk sense!”
They both laughed, but Cassandra was conscious of a pricking of conscience. It had never occurred to her to “work hard” to preserve her husband’s love. Like many another woman she had taken for granted that once secured, it would automatically remain her own; she had grieved over a divergence of interest, as a calamity beyond her control. How could one “prepare” against such a contingency?
“I’m not at all sure that I agree with you,” she said restlessly. “The ‘happy-ever-after’ theory has its drawbacks, but it’s very sweet while it lasts, and your other seems prosaic from the start. To have to work hard, to ‘struggle’ for one’s husband’s love!”
“Well, why not? Is there any big thing in life which one gains, or keeps without a fight? And this is the biggest of all, and the most fragile and easily lost. Think! among all your friends how many could come to stay in your house for one month, that you wouldn’t be thankful to part from at the end? I don’t say you stop caring for them, but you’ve had enough! You say to yourself: ‘Emmeline is an angel, but that giggle of hers drives me daft. Thank the gods she’s leaving to-day!’ or ‘Emmeline’s a perfect dear, I’m devoted to her, but have you noticed the way she wriggles her nose? It’s got on my nerves to such an extent that I can’t bear it an hour longer.’ And you stand on the platform and wave your hand, and draw a great big sigh of relief as the train puffs away, and within the railway carriage Emmeline is sighing too, and feeling unutterably relieved to be rid of you! ... You know it’s true!”
“Oh!” laughed Cassandra, “don’t talk of a month. A week is enough for me. Less than a week!”
“Then why wonder at the difficulties of marriage? There’s no magic in a few words spoken at the altar, to make two people impervious to each other’s faults. It’s the most wonderful and beautiful of miracles when they manage to live tied together for twenty, thirty, even fifty years, and to be decently civil until the end. It’s worth any amount of effort to accomplish. I adore my husband, I adore myself, but we are mortal... we have failings; and as we grow older they’ll grow worse. At present we are both blind, but there will come a time when our eyes are opened. I know. I’ve seen. I’ve watched. I’ve taken warning. I’m going to prepare myself in advance.”
“What, par exemple, are you going to do?”