“Well, I am very happy,” said my aunt, passing her hand through her husband’s arm. “I only hope that Conny may have my good fortune,” and she glanced askance at her daughter and me.
“Confess, my dear, that you would rather have had Edward,” exclaimed my uncle with a deep smile.
“You don’t mean what you say. But even if I had, I should only have acted as most women do, who invariably want the wrong man.”
Conny looked at me from under her parasol and smiled. What did she mean by smiling?
“There is a great deal of nonsense talked about marriage,” said my uncle. “My idea is, that every young man should get a wife as soon as he can.”
“That’s my idea, too,” said I.
“And mine,” exclaimed my aunt.
Thus fortified—how strong a man feels in his wife’s acquiescence! but then she must often contradict him—my uncle continued, “For what is a man without a home?”
“A vagabond,” cried my aunt.
“Quite right, my dear; for a vagabond means a wanderer.”