“Well, he always does when he comes from Paris. If you could go into his room, and see the row of photographs on his mantelpiece, you might guess why.” “Pictures of ‘Sole Dieppoise’ and ‘Poulet Victoria aux truffes,’ no doubt,” I hazarded. She doubled up with laughter. “Yes, just that!” she said. “Well, he adores me in his way, and will bring me a new Cartier ring to make up for it--you will see at luncheon.” “He is a perfect husband, then?” “About the same as you will find Christopher. Only Christopher will start by being an exquisite lover, there is nothing he does not know, and Charlie has not an idea of that part. Heavens! the dullness of my honeymoon!” “Mrs. Carruthers said all honeymoons were only another parallel to going to the dentist, or being photographed. Necessary evils to be got through for the sake of the results.” “The results!” “Yes; the nice house, and the jewels, and the other things.” “Oh! Yes, I suppose she was right, but if one had married Robert one would have had both.” She did not say both what, but oh! I knew. “You think Mr. Carruthers will make a fair husband, then?” I asked. “You will never really know Christopher. I have been acquainted with him for years. You will never feel he would tell you the whole truth about anything. He is an epicure and an analyst of sensations; I don’t know if he has any gods, he does not believe in them if he has, he believes in no one, and nothing, but perhaps himself. He is violently in love with you for the moment, and he wants to marry you because he cannot obtain you on any other terms.” “You are flattering,” I said, rather hurt. “I am truthful. You will probably have a delightful time with him, and keep him devoted to you for years, because you are not in love with him, and he will take good care you do not look at any one else. I can imagine if one were in love with Christopher he would break one’s heart, as he has broken poor Alicia Verney’s.” “Oh, but how silly! people don’t have broken hearts now; you are talking like out of a book, dear Lady Ver.” “There are a few cases of broken hearts, but they are not for book reasons--of death and tragedy, etc.; they are because we cannot have what we want, or keep what we have,” and she sighed. We did not speak for a few minutes, then she said quite gaily, “You have made my head better, your touch is extraordinary; in spite of all I like you, Snake-girl. You are not found on every gooseberry bush.” We kissed lightly, and I left her and went to my room.