“How can you say that on a day like this?” cried Mrs. Pasmer. “I didn't suppose any one could be so unromantic.”
“Don't flatter him,” cried his wife.
“Does he consider that a compliment?”
“Not personally,” he answered: “But it's the first duty of a Professor of Comparative Literature to be unromantic.”
“I don't understand,” faltered Mrs. Pasmer.
“He will be happy to explain, at the greatest possible length,” said Mrs. Saintsbury. “But you shan't spoil our pleasure now, John.”
They all laughed, and the Professor looked proud of the wit at his expense; the American husband is so, and the public attitude of the American husband and wife toward each other is apt to be amiably satirical; their relation seems never to have lost its novelty, or to lack droll and surprising contrasts for them.
Besides these passages with her husband, Mrs. Saintsbury kept up a full flow of talk with the elder Mavering, which Mrs. Pasmer did her best to overhear, for it related largely to his son, whom, it seemed, from the father's expressions, the Saintsburys had been especially kind to.
“No, I assure you,” Mrs. Pasmer heard her protest, “Mr. Saintsbury has, been very much interested in him. I hope he has not put any troublesome ideas into his head. Of course he's very much interested in literature, from his point of view, and he's glad to find any of the young men interested in it, and that's apt to make him overdo matters a little.”
“Dan wished me to talk with him, and I shall certainly be glad to do so,” said the father, but in a tone which conveyed to Mrs. Pasmer the impression that though he was always open to conviction, his mind was made up on this point, whatever it was.
VI.
The party went to half a dozen spreads, some of which were on a scale of public grandeur approaching that of the Gymnasium, and others of a subdued elegance befitting the more private hospitalities in the students' rooms. Mrs. Pasmer
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