The man at my other hand was very young, but even so a husband.  I asked him how it was all the men were married, and he said he “didn’t kinder know”; it was a habit they dropped into on leaving college; but for his part he though perhaps it was a pity not to be able to have a look round a little longer.  And then he said thoughtfully, “I guess you’re right.  I don’t recollect many single men.  Why, there’s not one here!”

And I said we had found it like that everywhere; they all seemed married except in Philadelphia.

“But you see we can quit if we want to,” he added, “though we don’t start out with that idea.”  And probably they don’t, but I think it must give an underneath, comforting sort of feeling to know, when you are trotting up the aisle, or walking across the drawing-room to a lovely rigged-up altar to swear fidelity to the person who is waiting for you there, that if he annoys you in a fortnight, you can get free; and all the experience gained, and not a stain upon your character.  I do wish we were half as sensible in England.

Just think of it, Mamma!  I could have divorced Harry by now for quarrelling with me.  I might then marry someone else, divorce him, and then presently make up with Harry and have the fun of getting married all over again.  Just imagine what stories we could then tell one another!  I could say “My intermediate husband never did such and such,” or, “Jack would not have spoken in that tone; he made love quite differently;” and so on, and Harry could say, “You are far sweeter than Clara; I am glad we have returned to one another.”  Don’t you think it is a splendid plan?  Or are you ridiculously old fashioned like most English people, who think their worn out old laws the only ones in the universe?

I hope I am not being impertinent, Mamma, to you, but really, after being in America for a while, where everything is so progressive, I get impatient with our solidity of thought.  It is quite as wearisome to contemplate, as the Chicago solid body is unattractive to look at.

When we got back the Senator told us that the very young man I had been talking to had had a quarrel with his wife, and they were actually settling the divorce proceedings when Mr. Purdy’s invitation to meet the English travellers came the evening before, and they had sent off the lawyers and made it up to be able to come, and now they may go on happily for another two years, he says!

Our host told us all sorts of interesting things of his greatness, and how acquired.  He is really a wonderful person, almost a socialist in politics, and a complete autocrat in his life and methods.  Tom and the Vicomte sat at each side of the hostess, of course, and they told us she practically did not hear a word they said, she was so anxious that the servants should do their duty and ply them with food.

“Mr. Purdy would never forgive me if you didn’t get just what you fancy,” she said; and however quaint the idea, the spirit which prompted it was so kind; they said they just gorged everything which was put in front of them, to please her.