“I might have known that, had I reflected a moment; for they say Mary Monson employs none but bachelors and widowers in her case; and you are her counsel, I know.” “This is a peculiarity of which I was not aware. Timms is a bachelor, certainly, as well as myself; but to whom else can you allude? Jack Wilmeter, my nephew, can hardly be said to be employed at all; nor, for that matter, Michael Millington; though neither is married.” “Yes, sir; we know both of the last well, they having lodged with us. If young Mr. Wilmeter is single, I fancy it is not his own fault”—here Mrs. Horton looked very wise, but continued talking—“Young gentlemen of a good appearance and handsome fortunes commonly have not much difficulty in getting wives—not as much as young ladies; for you men make the law, and you give your own sex the best chance, almost as a matter of course——” “Pardon me, Mrs. Horton,” interrupted Dunscomb, a little formally, like one who felt great interest in the subject—“you were remarking that we have the best chance of getting married; and here have I been a bachelor all my life, trying in vain to enter into the happy state of matrimony—if, indeed, it deserve to be so termed.” “It could not be very difficult for _you_ to find a companion,” said the landlady, shaking her head; “and for the reason I have just given.” “Which was——?” “That you men have made the laws and profit by them. _You_ can _ask_ whom you please; but a woman is obliged to wait to be asked.” “You never were in a greater mistake in your life, I do assure you, my good Mrs. Horton. There is no such law on the subject. Any woman may put the question, as well as any man. This _was_ the law, and I don’t think the Code has changed it.” “Yes, I know that well enough, and get laughed at, and pointed at, for her pains. I know that a good deal is said about leap-year; but who ever heard of a woman’s putting the question? I fancy that even Mary Monson would think twice before she took so bold a step once.” “Mary Monson!” exclaimed Dunscomb, suddenly turning towards his hostess—“Has she a reputation for being attentive to gentlemen?” “Not that I know of; but——” “Then allow me to say, my good Mrs. Horton,” interrupted the celebrated counsellor, with a manner that was almost austere, “that you have been greatly to blame in hazarding the sort of remark you did. If you _know_ nothing of the character you certainly insinuated, you should have said nothing. It is very extraordinary that women, alive as they must be to the consequences to one of their own sex, are ever more ready than men to throw out careless, and frequently malicious hints, that take away a reputation, and do a melancholy amount of harm in the world. Slander is the least respectable, the most unchristianlike, and the most unlady-like vice, of all the secondary sins of your sex. One would think the danger you are all exposed to in common, would teach you greater caution.”