"Because she doesn't curl it," explained the Girton Girl. She spoke
somewhat snappishly, it seemed to me.
"I never thought of that," murmured the Woman of the World.
"It is to be noted in connection with the argument," I ventured to
remark, "that we hear but little concerning the wives of
intellectual men. When we do, as in the case of the Carlyles, it is
to wish we did not."
"When I was younger even than I am now," said the Minor Poet, "I
thought a good deal of marriage--very young men do. My wife, I told
myself, must be a woman of mind. Yet, curiously, of all the women I
have ever loved, no single one has been remarkable for intellect--
present company, as usual, of course excepted."
"Why is it," sighed the Philosopher, "that in the most serious
business of our life, marriage, serious considerations count for
next to nothing? A dimpled chin can, and often does, secure for a
girl the best of husbands; while virtue and understanding combined
cannot be relied upon to obtain her even one of the worst."
"I think the explanation is," replied the Minor Poet, "that as
regards, let us say, the most natural business of our life,
marriage, our natural instincts alone are brought into play.
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