"Either, really. But don't let's forget that there are a great many others, on the other hand, who care for nothing and no one who isn't their own. Collectors, rather than hunters. Surely you've noticed that, Madeline? It's a passion for property. The kind of man who thinks _his_ house, _his_ pictures, _his_ cook, even his mother, everything connected with him must be better than the possessions of anyone else. Well, this kind of man is quite capable of remaining very devoted to his own wife, and in love with her, if she's only decently nice to him; and even if she's not. I mean the sort of man one sometimes sees at a party, pointing out some utterly insignificant person there, and declaring that Gladys or Jane, or whoever it is, takes the shine out of everyone else, and that there's no one else in the room to touch her. His wife, of course. I don't mean out of devotion--that's another, finer temperament--but simply and solely because she belongs to him." "Well, Bertha, I don't care what his reason is, I _like_ that man!" "Oh, rather! So do I. And very often he's not a bit appreciated; though he would be by us. Perhaps the most usual case of all is for the husband, if he's married for love, to remain in love for the first two or three years, and for the love then to turn gradually into a warm friendship, or even a deep affection, which may go on growing deeper--it's only the romance and the glamour and sparkle that seems to go--the excitement. And that's such a pity. I can't help thinking in many cases it really needn't be. More often than not, I believe, it's the woman's mistake. Just at first, she's liable to take too much advantage of the new sort of power she feels." "Do you mean, Bertha, that the woman generally doesn't take enough trouble with the house to make it pleasant for him at home--and all that?" "I _didn't_ mean that, though it might be so. But sometimes it's just the other way. More often than not she takes a great deal too much trouble about the home, and bothers him about it. There's far too much domesticity. It's like playing at houses at first, but soon it grows tedious. At any rate the whole thing is worth studying very deeply. I can tell you I haven't given it up yet." "You? Oh, Bertha, I can't think what fault you have to find. You, as you say, certainly are exacting." "I blame myself, solely. I feel that, somehow or other, I've allowed things to get too prosaic. Percy takes everything for granted: everything goes on wheels. Of course, if I were satisfied to settle down at twenty-eight with complete contentment at the prospect of a humdrum existence, it would be all right; but I'm not. In another few years Percy will be getting on very well as a barrister, taking himself seriously, and regarding me just as part of the furniture at home. You know he always calls me a canary; that shows his point of view. Well, then, he might get a little interested in a wilder kind of bird, and I shouldn't like it!"