Mr. Chance passed on, and took a seat with one of the superfluous men, for contrary to the rule on most such occasions, the male gender was in excess of the female. I had not expected him to return to Miss Sprig; men always become satiated with such girls, soon or late.
My elderly acquaintance entered upon an animated conversation, that became more and more personal, and finally reached a climax when she leaned over, and said in a semi-whisper:
“My dear Miss Leigh, you ought to marry.”
I had been told this a number of times; any one would suppose, to listen to some of these women, that I had but to put out my hand, and pluck a man from the nearest bush.
“I don’t doubt you will marry some day, but I’m afraid you may not choose wisely”—here she lowered her voice again—“after a man reaches thirty-five he becomes very fixed in his ways, and I don’t think it’s safe for a maiden lady to try to manage him; it needs some one of more experience.”
I knew she had Mr. Chance in mind, and I was so indignant at being warned against a man who had never shown the first symptom of any such folly as addressing me, that the blood mounted to my hair.
Observing this, my elderly companion whispered:
“I wasn’t thinking of any one, in particular, my dear;” upon which I grew more enraged, and the color in my face deepened until I must have resembled an irate old turkey gobbler—“not of any one in particular, my dear; but on general principles, I shouldn’t advise such a match. A widower would be just the thing for you, and there always are widowers, and every year the list grows—death makes inroads, you know.”
This idea, this hope of a second crop, as I had passed beyond the first picking, was comforting. I knew perfectly well whom she had in mind for me—a nice fat little widower, about fifty years old, who had been held on the marital spit, until he was done to a turn.
The summer was ended, and I was not married. I am speaking now from the standpoint of my neighbors; to my mind life did not swing on this hinge. I had my occupations—there were a goodly number of needy folk to be looked after; there was my reading; my music; my friends, and other pleasures, and altogether I felt I was very well off. Not that I was cynically opposed to marriage; I intended to marry, if the right man called, but if he did not I was content to end life as I had begun it—in single blessedness.