"How do you know that I do class myself among the fortunate ones?"
"Because you are unmarried, and seeing you is to know that you could not enjoy that blessed state except through choice."
Edith smiled at his gallantry, wondering whether he was really as flippant as he would have her think.
"If a woman were to take that position she would be accused of 'sour grapes,' wouldn't she?"
"Probably; such is the instinctive pessimism of the times. It is so much easier to do the conventional when one sees it going on all about him that people are intellectually incapable of comprehending that to avoid the obvious may be a matter of pre-determination, and an evidence of strength rather than the result of accident or an act of omission."
"Does Mr. Cosden share your views upon this subject?" Edith inquired.
"Not at the present moment, if I am credibly informed by my observations."
Edith looked at him critically. "Do you mean that he is engaged?" she asked pointedly.
"Oh, no," Huntington disclaimed promptly, conscious that he was talking of his friend with considerable freedom, but suddenly inspired with the idea that it might help the situation; "no, I didn't mean that at all. He isn't as careful as he used to be about exposing himself; that is what I was trying to say. You see, I don't know how long inoculation holds good: it's seven years for smallpox, and three years for typhoid. How long should you say a man could hold out against matrimony on the same ratio?"
"When was Mr. Cosden 'inoculated,' as you call it?" she asked, smiling.