'I do, indeed.'
The bishop's face had grown grave.
'Think well, Mulliner,' he said. 'Marriage is a serious affair. Do not plunge into it without due reflection. I myself am a husband, and, though singularly blessed in the possession of a devoted help-meet, cannot but feel sometimes that a man is better off as a bachelor. Women, Mulliner, are odd.'
'True,' said Augustine.
'My own dear wife is the best of women. And, as I never weary of saying, a good woman is a wondrous creature, cleaving to the right and the good under all change; lovely in youthful comeliness, lovely all her life in comeliness of heart. And yet—'
'And yet?' said Augustine.
The bishop mused for a moment. He wriggled a little with an expression of pain, and scratched himself between the shoulder-blades.
'Well, I'll tell you,' said the bishop. 'It is a warm and pleasant day today, is it not?'
'Exceptionally clement,' said Augustine.
'A fair, sunny day, made gracious by a temperate westerly breeze. And yet, Mulliner, if you will credit my statement, my wife insisted on my putting on my thick winter woollies this morning. Truly,' sighed the bishop, 'as a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion. Proverbs xi, 21.'