“Then they should be, except to Wendell Holmes. Only the worst puns are endurable. When Alice Fox told Dr. North his horse ‘Roland’ was well named, because he was to carry good news to Aix, I considered that the climax of verbal murder.”
“No, there is a worse one,” cried Rose; “but that I shall never, never tell.”
“Pardon me,” said Carington, “was not Mrs. Fox that delightful widow with the pleasant name,—I recall it now, ‘Westerley,’ Mrs. Westerley? There was some queer story about her wanting to marry a country doctor who came to grief, or did some queer things, I forget what.”
“Yes; she married Colonel Fox, at last.”
“Married once,” said Lyndsay, “engaged once, and at last lucky enough to capture that fine fellow. How many love-affairs she had in between—who shall say?”
“And a sweeter, better woman never was,” returned Anne. “I could explain her life; but I have no mind to betray the secrets of my sex.”
“She attained wisdom at last,” said Lyndsay, “for I heard her tell Fox once that married men should have every year one month for a bachelor honeymoon.”
As they laughed, Mrs. Lyndsay, who had just come onto the porch, said, “That is like her; but I do think it is only an echo of the discontent with our decent, old-fashioned notions as to marriage. I hope, Rose—” and here Mrs. Lyndsay stopped short. Anne looked up.
“The recipe seems to work well. They are very happy. I propose some day to start a company to insure the permanency of the married state. It ought to pay. They insure everything nowadays, from boilers to window-glass,” she added.
“That’s so,” said Ellett. “Now, the interviews of the examiner of that company with the young couples wouldn’t be a bad situation to play.”