"
"Little Mavis--I'm going to call you that--you don't know what rot
you're talking."
"Rot is often the inconvenient common sense of other people,"
commented Mavis.
"It isn't as if marriage were for a day," he went on, "or for a
week, or two years. Then, it wouldn't matter very much whom one
married. But it's for a lifetime, whether it turns out all right or
whether it don't. What?"
"I see; you'd have men choose wives as you would a house or an
umbrella," she suggested.
"People would be a jolly sight happier if they did," he replied, to
add, after looking intently at Mavis: "Though, after all, I believe
I'm talking rot. When one's love time comes, nothing else in the
world matters; every other consideration goes phut, as it should."
"Goes what?"
"Goes to blazes, then, as it should."
"As it should," echoed Mavis.
"Dear little Mavis!" smiled Windebank, "But it's big Mavis now."
He called the waiter, to give him a note with which to pay the bill.
"What wicked waste!" remarked Mavis in an undertone.
"When it's been time spent with you?"
When the bill and the change were brought, Windebank would not look
at either.
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