Lady Stutfield. Have you never forgiven him then? How sad that seems! But all life is very, very sad, is it not?
Mrs. Allonby. Life, Lady Stutfield, is simply a mauvais quart d’heure made up of exquisite moments.
Lady Stutfield. Yes, there are moments, certainly. But was it something very, very wrong that Mr. Allonby did? Did he become angry with you, and say anything that was unkind or true?
Mrs. Allonby. Oh dear, no. Ernest is invariably calm. That is one of the reasons he always gets on my nerves. Nothing is so aggravating as calmness. There is something positively brutal about the good temper of most modern men. I wonder we women stand it as well as we do.
Lady Stutfield. Yes; men’s good temper shows they are not so sensitive as we are, not so finely strung. It makes a great barrier often between husband and wife, does it not? But I would so much like to know what was the wrong thing Mr. Allonby did.
Mrs. Allonby. Well, I will tell you, if you solemnly promise to tell everybody else.
Lady Stutfield. Thank you, thank you. I will make a point of repeating it.
Mrs. Allonby. When Ernest and I were engaged, he swore to me positively on his knees that he had never loved any one before in the whole course of his life. I was very young at the time, so I didn’t believe him, I needn’t tell you. Unfortunately, however, I made no enquiries of any kind till after I had been actually married four or five months. I found out then that what he had told me was perfectly true. And that sort of thing makes a man so absolutely uninteresting.
Lady Hunstanton. My dear!
Mrs. Allonby. Men always want to be a woman’s first love. That is their clumsy vanity. We women have a more subtle instinct about things. What we like is to be a man’s last romance.