I liked his looks, but I liked him better.
So I told her that as far as I knew it would be a good marriage—if it was one.
"How much do you love him?" she asked.
That I couldn't quite tell,—it was a good deal,—but I didn't think it would kill me to lose him.
"Do you love him enough to do something to win him—to really put yourself out somewhat for that purpose?"
"Why—yes—I think I do. If it was something I approved of. What do you mean?"
Then Lois unfolded her plan. She had been married,—unhappily married, in her youth; that was all over and done with years ago; she had told me about it long since; and she said she did not regret the pain and loss because it had given her experience. She had her maiden name again—and freedom. She was so fond of me she wanted to give me the benefit of her experience—without the pain.
"Men like music," said Lois; "they like sensible talk; they like beauty of course, and all that,—"
"Then they ought to like you!" I interrupted, and, as a matter of fact they did. I knew several who wanted to marry her, but she said "once was enough." I don't think they were "good marriages" though.
"Don't be foolish, child," said Lois, "this is serious. What they care for most after all is domesticity. Of course they'll fall in love with anything; but what they want to marry is a homemaker. Now we are living here in an idyllic sort of way, quite conducive to falling in love, but no temptation to marriage. If I were you—if I really loved this man and wished to marry him, I would make a home of this place."