Getting Married

refused you. And you know that it’s not because she dislikes you, but only that she’s not a marrying woman. The General It’s no use. I love her still. And I can’t help telling her so whenever we meet, though I know it makes her avoid me. He all but weeps. Mrs. Bridgenorth What does she say when you tell her? The General Only that she wonders when I am going to grow out of it. I know now that I shall never grow out of it. Mrs. Bridgenorth Perhaps you would if you married her. I believe you’re better as you are, Boxer. The General I’m a miserable man. I’m really sorry to be a ridiculous old bore, Alice; but when I come to this house for a wedding⁠—to these scenes⁠—to⁠—to recollections of the past⁠—always to give the bride to somebody else, and never to have my bride given to me⁠—He rises abruptly. May I go into the garden and smoke it off? Mrs. Bridgenorth Do, Boxer. Collins returns with the wedding cake. Mrs. Bridgenorth Oh, here’s the cake. I believe it’s the same one we had for Florence’s wedding. The General I can’t bear it. He hurries out through the garden door. Collins Putting the cake on the table. Well, look at that, ma’am! Ain’t it odd that after all the weddings he’s given away at, the General can’t stand the sight of a wedding cake yet. It always seems to give him the same shock. Mrs. Bridgenorth Well, it’s his last shock. You have married the whole family now, Collins. She takes up The Times again and resumes her seat. Collins Except your sister, ma’am. A fine character of a lady, ma’am, is Miss Grantham. I have an ambition to arrange her wedding breakfast. Mrs. Bridgenorth She won’t marry, Collins. Collins Bless you, ma’am, they all say that. You and me said it, I’ll lay. I did, anyhow. Mrs. Bridgenorth No: marriage came natural to me. I should have thought it did to you too. Collins Pensive. No, ma’am: it didn’t come natural. My wife had to break me into it. It came natural to her: she’s what you might call a regular old hen. Always wants to have her family within sight of her. Wouldn’t go to bed unless she knew they was all safe at home and the door locked, and the lights out. Always wants her luggage in the carriage with her. Always goes and makes the engine driver promise her to be careful. She’s a born wife and mother, ma’am. That’s why my children all ran away from home. Mrs. Bridgenorth Did you ever feel inclined to run away, Collins? Collins Oh yes, ma’am, yes: very often. But when it came to the point I couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings. She’s a sensitive, affectionate, anxious soul; and she was never brought up to know what freedom is to some people. You see, family life is all the life she knows: she’s like a bird born in a cage, that would die if you let it loose in the woods. When I thought how little it was to a man of my easy temper to put up with her, and how deep it would hurt her to think it was because I didn’t care for her, I always put off running away till next time; and so in the end I never ran away at all. I daresay it was good for me to be took such care of; but it cut me off from all my old friends something dreadful, ma’am: especially the women, ma’am. She never gave them a chance: she didn’t indeed. She never understood that married people should take holidays from one another if they are to keep at all fresh. Not that I ever got tired of her, ma’am; but my! how I used to get tired of home life sometimes. I used to catch myself envying my brother George: I positively did, ma’am. Mrs. Bridgenorth George was a bachelor then, I suppose? Collins Bless you, no, ma’am. He married a very fine figure of a woman; but she was that changeable and what you might call susceptible, you would not believe. She didn’t seem to have any control over herself when she fell in love. She would mope for a couple of days, crying about nothing; and then she would up and say⁠—no matter who was there to hear her⁠—“I must go to him, George”; and away she would go from her home and her husband without with-your-leave or by-your-leave. Mrs. Bridgenorth But do you mean that she did this more than once? That she came back? Collins Bless you, ma’am, she done it five times to my own knowledge; and then George gave up telling us about it, he got so used to it. Mrs. Bridgenorth But did he always take her back? Collins Well, what could he do, ma’am? Three times out of four the men would bring her back the same evening and no harm done. Other times they’d run away from her. What could any man with a heart do but comfort her when she came back crying at the way they dodged her when she threw herself at their heads, pretending they was too noble to accept the sacrifice she was making. George told her again and again that if she’d only stay at home and hold off a bit they’d be at her feet all day long. She got sensible at last and took his advice. George always liked change of company. Mrs. Bridgenorth What an odious woman, Collins! Don’t you think so? Collins Judicially. Well, many ladies with a domestic turn thought so and said so, ma’am. But I will say for Mrs. George that the variety of experience made her wonderful interesting. That’s where the flighty ones score off the steady ones, ma’am. Look at my old woman! She’s never known any man but me; and she can’t properly know me, because she don’t know other men to compare me with. Of course she knows