"Why, George?"
"Wedding presents," I said savagely, "exactly that, my dear. This being forced to live years of married life surrounded by things you don't want, you never will want, and which you've got to live with or lose your friends."
"Oh, George!" said Clara, gazing around helplessly, "it is terrible, isn't it?"
"Look at that rug you are sitting on," I said, glaring at a six by ten modern French importation. "Cauliflowers contending with unicorns, surrounded by a border of green roses and orange violets—expensive! And until the lamp explodes or the pipes burst we have got to go on and on and on living over that, and why?—because dear Isabel will be here once a week!"
"I thought Isabel would have better taste," said Clara.
"She has—Isabel has perfect taste, depend upon it," I said, "she did it on purpose!"
"George!"
"Exactly that. Have you noticed that married people give the most impossible presents? It is revenge, my dear. Society has preyed upon them. They will prey upon society. Wait until we get a chance!"
"It is awful!" said Clara.
"Let us continue. We have five French rugs; no two could live together. Five rooms desecrated. Our drawing-room is Art Nouveau, furnished by your Uncle James, who is strong and healthy and may live twenty years. I particularly abominate Art Nouveau furniture."