“You frighten me, Sarah.  I cannot believe this is always true of men and their wives.”

“Neither is it.  Some men are good and kind and gentle, gentle-men, even in their families; and every woman believes the man she is to marry is that exception.  Jo,—­bend your ear down closer,—­I thought once I knew such a man,—­and,—­dear,—­I loved him.”

“My darling!—­but, Sarah, why”—­

“Because, as you said, Josey, I was too old; I had seen too much; I would not give way to an impulse.  I bent my soul to know him; I rang the metal on more than one stone, and every time it rang false.  I knew, if I married him, I should live and die a wretched woman.  Was it not better to live alone?”

“But, Sarah,—­if he loved you?”

“He did not,—­not enough to hurt himself; he could not love anything so much better than his ease as to suffer, Josey:  he was safe.  He thought, or said, he loved me; but he was mistaken.”

“Safe, indeed!  He ought to have been shot!”

“Hush, dear!”

There was a long pause.  It was as when you lift a wreck from the tranquil sea and let it fall again to the depths, useless to wave or shore; the black and ghastly hulk is covered; it is seen no more; but the water palpitates with circling rings, trembles above the grave, dashes quick and apprehensive billows upon the sand, and is long in regaining its quiet surface.

“I wonder if there ever was a perfect man,” said Jo, at length, drawing a deep sigh.

“You an American girl, Jo, and don’t think at once of Washington?”

“My dear, I am bored to death with Washington a l’Americain.  A man!—­ how dare you call him a man?—­don’t you know he is a myth, an abstraction, a plaster-of-Paris cast?  Did you ever hear any human trait of his noticed?  Weren’t you brought up to regard him as a species of special seraph, a sublime and stainless figure, inseparable from a grand manner and a scroll?  Did you ever dare suppose he ate, or drank, or kissed his wife?  You started then at the idea:  I saw you!”

“You are absurd, Jo.  It is true that he is exactly, among us, what demigods were to the Greeks,—­only less human than they.  But when I once get my neck out of the school-yoke, I do not start at such suggestions as yours; I believe he did comport himself as a man of like passions with others, and was as far from being a hero to his valet-de-chambre as anybody.”

By this time we were at home, and Jo flung her parasol on the bench in the porch, and sat down beside it with a gesture of weariness and disgust mingled.