it," he replied. "I'd never
even heard of her until he said she was coming to dinner!"

"I had," Gilbert said, "but I didn't think he was going to let the life
force catch hold of him. Close chap, Roger! He never gives himself away
... and that's the sort that's most romantic. You and I are obviously
sloppy, Quinny, but somehow we miss all the messes that reticent, close
chaps like Roger fall into. You don't much like her, do you?"

"Well, I'm not what you might call smitten by her, but that's because
she seems to think I'm wasting time in writing novels. She's too
strenuous for me. I like women who relax sometimes. She'll orate to him
every night, just as she orated to us, about people's wrongs...."

"Mind, she's clever!" said Gilbert.

"Oh, I don't deny that. That's part of my case against her. Really and
truly, Gilbert, do you like clever women?"

"Really and truly, Quinny, I don't. Perhaps that's not the way to put
it. I like talking to clever women, but I shouldn't like to marry one of
them. I'm clever myself, and perhaps that's why. There isn't room for
more than one clever person in a family, and I think a clever man should
marry an intelligently stupid woman, and vice versa. You can argue with
clever women, but you can't kiss them or flirt with them. All the clever
ones I've ever known have had something hard in them ... like a lump of
steel. Men aren't like that! They can be hard, of course, but they
aren't always exhibiting their hardness. Clever women are."

Henry tossed Marsh's letter across the table to Gilbert.

"Read that," he said, "while I look through the _Times_!"

They both rose from the table, and sat for a while in the armchairs on
either side of the fireplace.

"You know, Quinny," said Gilbert, as he took Marsh's letter out of its
envelope, "I often think we're awfully young, all of us!"

"Young?"

"Yes. Immature ... and all that. We're frightfully clever, of course,
but really we don't know much, and yet you're writing books and I'm
writing plays and Ninian's building Tunnels and Roger's playing ducks
and drakes with the law ... and not one of us is thirty yet. Lord, I
wish Roger hadn't got engaged. That sort of thing makes a man think!"

He read Marsh's letter and then passed it back to Henry.

"Seems all right," he said. "It's a pity those Irish fellows haven't got
a wider outlook. Sitting there fussing over their mouldy island when
there's the whole world to fuss over! I must be