“My dear Cosimo,” she said very patiently, “what is the matter? You look at me as if I had accused you of something. Nothing was further from my thoughts. I suppose, when you examine it, it’s a matter for congratulation, not accusation at all. As Walter said, I don’t want to fly at anybody’s eyes. We foresaw this, and provided for it, you know.”
At this cool taking for granted of a preposterous thing Cosimo’s stammer became a splutter.—“But—but—but—,” he broke out: but Amory held up her hand.
“I raise no objection. I’ve no right to. What earthly right have I, when I concurred before ever we were married?”
“Concurred!... My dear girl, concurred in what? Really this is the most ridiculous situation I was ever in!”
Amory raised her brows.—“Oh?... I don’t see anything ridiculous about it. It received my sanction when Britomart stopped in the house, and I haven’t changed my mind. As I say, we foresaw it, and provided for it.”
“‘It!’” Cosimo could only pipe—one little note, high and thin as that of a piccolo. Amory continued.
“I’m not asking a single question about it. I’m not even curious. I didn’t become your property when we married, and you’re not mine. Our souls are our own, both of us. I think we were very wise to foresee it quite at the beginning.—And don’t think I’m jealous. Perfectly truly, I wish you every happiness. Britomart’s a very pretty girl, and nobody can say she’s always making a display of her cleverness, like some of them. I respect your privacy, and want you to do the best you can with your life.”
The piccolo note changed to that of a bassoon.—“Amory—listen to me.”
“No. I’d very much rather not hear anything about it. As Walter said, Life is Love, and I only mentioned this at all to-night because there is one quite small practical detail that doesn’t seem to me entirely satisfactory.”
She understood Cosimo to ask what that was.