Egidia smiled irresistibly. It was impossible for her to help liking this unconscious egotist, who confessed to her failings with such a grace, and took plain speaking with such aplomb.
“I think,” she said, trying to give a less serious turn to the conversation, “what you really wanted, in marriage, was a man who would have dominated you—have beaten you, perhaps.”
“Yes, I do really believe I should,” said Mrs. Elles; “that is, if I loved him desperately at the time and he loved me desperately—afterwards! But,” she went on, seriously, “you have given me your views on marriage, and my marriage in particular, but, now you know all my life, what do you advise me to do?”
“Do? Do nothing! What can you do? What can any woman do?” asked Egidia, raising her well-marked eyebrows, and with an air of dismissing an impracticable subject.
Then, seeing the unmistakable look of disappointment in the eyes of her feminine Telemachus, she added kindly, “Ah, you see, when we outsiders come to the domain of practical politics, we are mere theorists—all at sea, and just as helpless and resourceless as any of you slaves of the ring can possibly be. I should advise you to make the best of it, and pray that you may never meet anybody you like better than the man you have got!”
Mrs. Elles rose to go, it was late. She had had a good time. She had enjoyed the personal discussion, but there was a wilful twist about her mouth, as of one which had swallowed much advice, but had swallowed it the wrong way.
“After this, I must not ask you to come and stop with me in London, I am afraid,” added Egidia.
“Oh, please do, and I will promise to wear blinkers.”
“Blue spectacles would be nearer the mark!” said the novelist. “Do that, and I will engage to introduce you to Edmund Rivers with impunity.”
“Well, but you said just now he was incapable of falling in love with any woman.”