“She’s a woman,” I thought, regarding her affectionately; “and all women are on the side of sentiment versus lucre; passion versus fine houses: emotion versus Gillow’s furniture. She will be my friend: fight for me against her husband, and Dick, and Teazer: save me from being married in spite of my screams, and finally hand me victorious to her lovely, blushing Conny.”
After dinner my uncle asked me to smoke a cigar with him in the library. I thanked him, and declined. I wanted to get to my aunt, and felt as if the smell of a cigar would make me ill.
“Why, what’s the matter with you?” he exclaimed, looking at me earnestly. “Not smoke!”
“Sometimes I don’t care about smoking,” said I.
“So much the better. I have often thought that you smoke too much. Where are you going?”
“Into the grounds. I find this room uncommonly warm.”
“By the way, I mentioned our conversation to my wife, and I am mortified to find her opposed to the scheme. The fact is, women never will take practical views. They don’t seem able to understand that money is necessary for life; and many of them, I am persuaded, believe that their husbands have nothing to do, when a bill comes in, but to go out of doors and pick enough money out of the soil to pay it with. I can quite understand her liking you so well as to regret that it is out of our power to sanction your marriage with Conny; but I can’t understand her thinking such a match desirable, when she knows that—through no fault of yours—you couldn’t support a wife.”
“I’d rather talk in the open air,” I answered. “This room is very oppressive.”
“Very well. I’ll follow you presently. I am very glad to see that you are beginning to take to my scheme kindly.”