Next second, recognizing us, they greeted us cheerily as they slid swiftly past upon their skis.
“A very charming pair—eh?” remarked old Humphreys. “The more I see of them the more interesting they become. What do you think of the girl? You are young, and should be a critic of feminine beauty,” he added, with a smile.
“I agree. She is very charming,” I said, “Audley is, however, rather too serious, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do. She’s too go-ahead for him—she’s a modern product as they call it. If a man marries he ought to have a comrade, not a cushion. A woman, to be a perfect wife, should not be too intellectual. A knowledge of literature, art and science does not necessarily make for domestic happiness. In a wife you want heart more than brains. Yet a giddy, brainless wife is even a worse abomination.”
“Do you mean Mrs. Audley,” I asked.
“Not in the least,” he replied quickly. “I don’t think she is either brainless or giddy. I am only giving you my idea of the perfect wife. The real wife would be a mate—the term is used by the lower classes and expresses the ideal perfectly. It sums up the whole thing. And I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Audley are really mated, though at present they are evidently very much in love with one another. I think they married in a hurry.”
This was a new line of thought for me, and, naturally, I was astonished. But I kept silence. Old Humphreys had seen far more of the world than I had and I had a good deal of respect for his judgment.
When we got back to the hotel Dr. Feng was waiting for me and we went in to lunch together. We were late and the big dining room was almost empty. After we had finished our meal Feng went to his room and I strolled into the lounge intending to have a cup of coffee there and then go to my room to write some letters.
To my surprise—for I thought they were out skiing—I found Audley and his wife seated on a settee. Both were obviously upset and the bride’s eyes showed unmistakable traces of tears.
To this day I cannot imagine what prompted me, but I think it must have been sheer nervous bravado for, without passing, I stepped across to them, and with a laugh exclaimed,—