“A man should never marry,” she said, deliberately, “till he can give his wife a good home, and good clothes and⁠—and that sort of thing. I do not think I shall ever marry.”

“You! Why, of course you will. Why not?”

“No, no. It is my disposition. I am morose and taciturn. Laura says so.”

Landry protested with vehemence.

“And,” she went on, “I have long, brooding fits of melancholy.”

“Well, so have I,” he threw out recklessly. “At night, sometimes⁠—when I wake up. Then I’m all down in the mouth, and I say, ‘What’s the use, by Jingo?’ ”

“Do you believe in pessimism? I do. They say Carlyle was a terrible pessimist.”