"Well, I don't know what your views about marriage are. Mine, I may say, are liberal."
I listened without attempting to reply.
"I think nine-tenths of the trouble that attends married life—the breakdowns and what not—come of an irrational effort to tighten the marriage knot."
Still I said nothing.
"To imagine that two independent human beings can be tied together like a couple of Siamese twins, neither to move without the other, living precisely the same life, year in, year out . . . why, it's silly, positively silly."
In my ignorance I could find nothing to say, and after another moment my intended husband swished the loosened gravel with his stick and said:
"I believe in married people leaving each other free—each going his and her own way—what do you think?"
I must have stammered some kind of answer—I don't know what—for I remember that he said next:
"Quite so, that's my view of matrimony, and I'm glad to see you appear to share it. . . . Tell the truth, I was afraid you wouldn't," he added, with something more about the nuns and the convent.
I wanted to say that I didn't, but my nervousness was increasing every moment, and before I could find words in which to protest he was speaking to me again.