“I believe there are many women nowadays who are honestly satisfied with an independent career, but she is not one. She is made to love and be loved. She needs a man to look after her.”
“The right kind of man!” I said primly. “I agree with your diagnosis, Mr Maplestone, but Evelyn’s nature makes it peculiarly essential that she should make a wise choice. If her marriage was a failure, she would suffer greatly. No one but herself can decide who is the Right Man.”
Feeding hour was approaching; a furious outburst of roars proclaimed the lions’ knowledge of the fact. Mr Maplestone leant his arm on the back of the seat and shouted into my ear:—
“But you know her so well; she has spoken to you. There could be no harm in giving me some hints. Some things might be altered, though others could not. Does she think me an ugly brute?”
His face was close to mine. I looked at the blunt features, the clear, healthful tints, and found nothing that offended my eye.
As I had realised in Mr Hallett’s presence, expression counts for more than mere correctness of outline. I turned aside and shook my head.
“The question of appearance does not count. In that respect you have the one qualification which a woman demands.”
“Which is?”
“Manliness—strength. Evelyn would care little for handsome features.”
He sighed relief.