"Permit me, gentlemen," said the conductor; the doors were closed, the friends nodded good-by, and the train moved off.
"Your observation about Linden's marriage astonishes me, Richard. But perhaps you were only jesting."
"By no means," said Richard. "Never more earnest in my life. I expressed my conviction, and my conviction is the result of careful observation and mature reflection."
The father's astonishment increased.
"Observation—reflection—-fudge!" said the father impatiently, as he folded the paper and shoved it into his pocket. "How can a young man of twenty-two talk of experience and observation! Enthusiastic nonsense! Marriage is a necessity of human life. And you will yet submit to this necessity."
"True, if marriage be a necessity, then I suppose I must bow to the yoke of destiny. But, father, this necessity does not exist. There are intelligent men enough who do not bind themselves to woman's caprices."
"Oh! certainly, there are some strange screech-owls in the worlds—some enthusiasts. But certainly you do not wish to be one of them. You, who have such great expectations. You, the only son of a wealthy house. You, who have a yearly income of thousands to spend."
"The income can be enjoyed more pleasantly, free and single, father."
"Free and single—and enjoyed! Zounds! you almost tempt me to think ill of you. Happily, I know you well. I know your strict morality, your solidity, your moderate pretensions. All these amiable qualities please me. But this view of marriage I did not expect; you must put away this sickly notion."
The young man made no answer, but leaned back in his seat with a disdainful smile.