“No, indeed I don’t,” replied Mr. Guildford. “I am most reasonable. I don’t expect much in my wife. She must be pretty—very pretty, I don’t care how pretty; she may be a little conceited if it amuses her, she must have some notion of house-keeping, and a perfectly good temper, that’s about all. Oh! no, by the bye, she must be fond of work—sewing, stitching, I mean—and I think, yes I think, she must not be able to play or sing. I’m not quite sure about singing.”
Bessie looked aghast. “Why, Edmond,” she exclaimed, “you mean to say you don’t want your wife to be clever, not even accomplished? I thought you admired clever women so, Miss Bertram and her sister for instance, though they are so plain-looking, and just think how you enjoy Mrs. Wendover’s playing.”
“So I do, but I never said I should like to marry either of the Bertrams, did I? For a friend, I think I would prefer Frances Bertram to any—man I was going to say—to any one I know. But a wife and a friend are different. A very wise person once said, ‘Descend a step in choosing a wife, mount a step in choosing a friend,’ and I quite agree with him,” replied Mr. Guildford.
“It’s a very nasty, mean, spiteful saying, whoever said it,” said Bessie wrathfully. “It’s just that men are so jealous that they can’t bear their wives to be thought more of than themselves. Who said it, Edmond?” she went on looking rather frightened as an idea struck her. “It wasn’t Solomon, it isn’t in the Bible, is it?”
Her brother looked mischievous. “Not quite, but very nearly,” he said. “It is not in our Bible, but in some other people’s bible. It’s in the Talmud, I believe. Solomon may have said it originally; and, as he had fifty wives, he should surely be an authority on the subject.”
“You shouldn’t joke about such things, Edmond,” said his sister reproachfully, looking nevertheless relieved at hearing where the proverb was to be found. “I don’t know anything about the Talmud; it’s the book those silly hair-dressers in the Arabian Nights’ were always saying verses out of, isn’t it? I remember that story when I was a child. But I wonder at you taking up those Turkish ideas about wives, Edmond.”
“About a wife you mean, I suppose?” he answered. “I don’t intend to have more than one. But you don’t understand me quite, Bessie. I should never be jealous of my wife in the way you mean, whatever she was, only—”
“What?” inquired the sister.
“Only,” he went on, “those grand women would come in the way of other things in a man’s life. A smaller sort of person would be more comfortable and less intrusive. The noblest woman that ever was made would be at best a frail bark to risk a man’s all in,” he added reflectively.
He almost forgot to whom he was speaking, till Mrs. Crichton’s next observation reminded him of her presence.