“In education a man certainly should be his wife’s equal,” answered Mrs Channing.
“And is not good temper essential with a husband?—come, now. Let’s hear your ideas on that point,” said the Colonel, chaffingly, from behind the big épergne.
Mabel Anson hesitated. For an instant her lustrous eyes met mine, and she at once lowered them with a downward sweep of her long dark lashes.
“I don’t argue that a girl thinking seriously of her future husband should lay any great stress on good temper,” she answered, in a sweet musical voice. “A soldierly form, a pair of good eyes, a noble profile—any of these might easily outweigh good temper.”
“Ah! there, I fear, I disagree with you,” I remarked smilingly. “It has always appeared to me that after the first year or so married people rarely think of each other’s features, because they are always in each other’s presence. They become heedless of whether each other’s features are classical or ugly; but they never fail to be cognisant of one another’s temper or shortcomings.”
“You speak as though from experience,” she laughed, without, however, attempting to combat my argument.
Another outburst of laughter greeted this bantering remark of hers.
“No,” observed Nellie, on my other hand. “Mr Heaton is the most confirmed bachelor I know. I believe he’s a woman-hater—if the truth were told.”
“Oh, really, Miss Channing!” I protested. “That’s certainly too bad of you. I assure you I’m no hater of the sex, but an admirer.”
“Heaton’s about to make a pretty speech,” observed the jovial, red-faced Colonel. “Go on, Wilford, my dear fellow, we’re all attention.”