But so inconsistent is human nature, although my higher self struggled against any selfish desire to keep Annabel at Restham, and my lower self was secretly relieved at the prospect of her departure, I was nevertheless hurt that she should wish to leave me. Once again I was brought face to face with the old problem, how is it that the people always behave so much better to other people than other people ever behave to them? To which I believe the real answer is that we all expect so much more of each other than we are prepared to give in return. My unholy relief at the transference of Annabel's beneficent yoke from my shoulders to Arthur's was shared to the fullest extent by Ponty, and in her case it assumed no secret or surreptitious form. "It'll be a good thing for Miss Annabel to have a house and a husband of her own at last," she remarked, "to order about as she pleases; and leave you and me to do what we like at the Manor, Master Reggie." "But you seem to forget that she is taking a vow of obedience to her husband," I suggested, "which she certainly never took with regard to you and me." Ponty shook her old head. "Vows or no vows, Miss Annabel will always wear the breeches." "Which in this case happens to be gaiters as well," I added: "but I've no doubt that she will wear them all, with the apron thrown in." "I shan't so much mind Miss Annabel having everything her own way at the Deanery, Master Reggie, because when all's said and done it's the course of nature for a woman to rule her own husband; but no woman was ever intended to rule her brother, and particularly her brother's wife, and it's against nature that she should. And what's against nature always ends in trouble sooner or later, mark my words! There was a man at Poppenhall when I was a girl who suddenly took it into his head to leave off eating meat, and lived instead upon nuts. He said there was a lot of nourishment in a nut, which it stands to reason there couldn't be, it all being made of what you might call wood, and indigestible at that. But anyway, he hadn't lived on nuts for more than a year when he, fell off a rick he was thatching and broke his neck. Which was nothing but a judgment upon him for going against nature. And for months before he died, you could hear the nuts rattling inside him, like a baby's rattle." "A terrible fate!" I said gravely. "But I may add for your comfort that if it is natural, as you say, for every woman to rule her own husband, there is no fear of Miss Annabel's going against nature: and I am sure that the Dean will make her an excellent husband." "None better: he's one in a thousand is Mr. Blathwayte, and always has been. And Miss Annabel won't make a bad wife either, for them as like those masterful, managing sort of wives. She'll always have her house kept beautiful; and she'll be Dean of Lowchester and Chapter too, if they don't take care." "But she'll be a very good Dean and Chapter, Ponty."