"Oh, strange creature!" said the doctor, "you would like to be loved for your face alone, that is to say, for the position in space of the albuminoids and fatty molecules placed there by the working of some Mendelian heredity, but you would dislike to be loved for your fortune, to which you have contributed by your labour and your domestic virtues." Berthe regarded the doctor nervously and reminded her sister that they had some glasses to wash before going to bed: so they emptied their bumpers and departed. After a restful silence, Major Parker asked Aurelle to explain the institution of the marriage _dot_, and, when he had grasped it, indignantly replied: "What? A man receives this splendid gift, a pretty woman, and he exacts money before accepting her? But what you tell me is monstrous, Aurelle, and dangerous. Instead of marrying beautiful and good women who would have beautiful and good children, you marry ugly, quarrelsome creatures provided with a cheque-book." "’He who has found a good wife has found great happiness,’" quoted the padre, "’but a quarrelsome woman is like a roof that lets in the rain.’" "It is wrong to suppose the children of love-matches better made than others," interrupted the doctor, becoming rather warlike, obviously owing to champagne. "Oh, I know the old theory: every man chooses his natural complement, and thus rears children which revert to the average type of the race. Big men like little women, large noses like little snub-noses, and very feminine men fall in love with Amazons. "As a matter of fact, a nervous, short-sighted, intellectual man marries a pedantic, nervous, short-sighted woman because their tastes are similar. Good riders make acquaintance with girls who hunt, and marry them for their sporting tastes. "So, far from reverting to the average type, love-matches tend to exaggerate the differences. And then is it desirable for selection to operate? There are very few really brilliant men who have not had at least one madman among their ancestors. The modern world has been founded by three epileptics—Alexander, Julius Cæsar and Luther, without mentioning Napoleon, who was not altogether well balanced. "In a thousand men of genius, how many mad relations?" asked the colonel. "I can’t tell you, sir," said the doctor. "You can talk nonsense to your heart’s content, doctor," said Major Parker. "But as far as I am concerned, if I ever marry, I shall only marry a very pretty woman. What’s the name of that charming cinema actress we saw together at Hazebrouck, Aurelle? "Napierkowska, sir." "Oh yes. Well, if I knew her I would marry her at once. And I am sure that she is if anything better and more intelligent than the average woman." "My friend Shaw," said the doctor, "says that to desire to be perpetually in the society of a pretty woman, until the end of one’s days, is as if, because one likes good wine, one wished always to have one’s mouth full of it."