“But there could not be one in ours, because I would never give you the chance to say, ‘The woman did it.’”
“Your mother forgets that we are exceptions.”
“She says there may be some difference in men, but that all husbands are alike.”
“Trite and to the point, as always with mamma.” Armstrong paused and smiled. “Well, I think even she will be satisfied with the success of her suggestion. How many do our guests number at present?”
Helen dropped the flower she was idly swinging and began to count upon her fingers.
“Let me see. There is Inez Thayer—I am glad that she could visit us, so that at last you can know her. It is strange enough that you should not have met her until the wedding. You cannot help liking each other, for she is interested in all those serious things you love so well. The girls used to make sport of our devotion at school because our dispositions are so unlike: she is thoughtful, while I am impulsive; she is carried away with anything which is deep and learned, while I, as you well know, have nothing more important in life than you and my music.”
Helen paused for a moment thoughtfully. “Sometimes I wish I could really interest myself in those ancient deities you worship.”
“You could if you only knew them as I do,” he urged, quietly. “The present is the evolution of the past, but it has been evolved so fast that many of the old-time treasures have been forgotten in the mad pace of every-day life.”
“But we can’t remember everything,” Helen replied; “there are not hours enough in the day. I can’t even find time to read our modern writers as much as I wish I could, and I think one ought to do that before going back to the ancients.”
“All modern literature is based upon what has gone before,” insisted Armstrong.