“Not scolding. Rebuking.” “It’s the same thing----” “Certainly not.” “Rebuking her, then, up to the very moment--oh, it would have killed me!” And she shivered. “My dear lady,” said I, slightly amused, “a man has certain duties, and he performs them. Sometimes they are unpleasant, and he still performs them. If he allowed himself to be killed each time there would be a mighty dearth of husbands in the world, and what would you all do then?” Women however have no sense of humour, and she was unable to catch at this straw of it offered her for the purpose of lightening the conversation. On the contrary, she turned her head and looking at me gravely (pretty eyes, wasted) she said, “But how much better never, never to do your duty.” “Really----” I protested. “Yes. If it means being unkind.” “Unkind? Is a mother unkind who rebukes her child?” “Oh, call it by its proper name--scolding, preaching, advising, abusing--it’s all unkind, wickedly unkind.” “Abusing, my dear lady?” “Come, now, Baron, what you said to the Duke----” “Ah. That was an unfortunate accident. I did what under any other circumstances would have been my duty, and Providence----” “Oh, Baron dear, leave Providence alone. And leave your duty alone. A tongue doing its duty is such a terrible instrument of destruction. Why, you can almost see all the little Loves and Charities turning paler and paler and weaker and weaker the longer it wags, and shrivelling up quite at last and being snuffed out. Really I have been thankful on my knees every time I have not said what I was going to say when I’ve been annoyed.” “Indeed?” said I, ironically. I might have added that no great strain could have been put upon her knees, for I could conceive no woman less likely to be silent if she wanted to speak. But, candidly, what did it matter? I have always found it quite impossible to take a woman seriously, even when I am attracted; and heaven knows I had no desire to sit on stones in that wet place while this one spread out her little stock of ill-assimilated wisdom for my (presumable) improvement. I therefore began to button up my cloak with an unmistakable finality, determined to seek the others and suggest a return to the camp. “You forget,” I said, while I buttoned, “that an outburst of annoyance has nothing whatever to do with the calm discharge of a reasonable man’s obligations.” “What, you’ve been quite calm and happy when you’ve been doing what you call rebuke?” said she, looking up at me. “Oh, Baron.” And she shook her head and smiled. “Calm, I hope and believe, but not happy. Nor did I expect to be. Duty has nothing to do with one’s happiness.” “No, nor with the other one’s,” said she quickly. Of course I could have scattered her reasoning to the winds if I had chosen to bring real logic to bear on it, but it would have taken time, she being very unconvinceable, and I really could not be bothered.