left on Teresa's hands. They drank their coffee before the open fire in the drawing-room, Teresa thinking about the volume of the Arabian Nights, to which she would get back as soon as he went, and listening absently to his unfavourable remarks about the English. At last he said abruptly:
"You are bored—I shall go. I'm sorry I came to-night. You are bored with most people, aren't you? And you are almost always bored with me. … I suppose I did not behave well to-night?"
"I'm tired—that's all. But you were horridly rude to my aunt," said Teresa.
"Well, how can I help it? She is such an awful fool, you know. She knows nothing about anything. What do women expect when they take that tone, anyway? They are just as much insulted when you're polite to them; they think it's condescension. I don't know what they want—except a chance to lecture us. And that they can do much better in private. Hasn't your aunt got a husband?"
"She had one," said Teresa, with a glimmering smile. "But he vanished. The combination of lectures and boarding-house life was too much for him. He evaporated."
"I'll bet he did. What a woman! You might as well marry a high-pressure cylinder. She's a typical American."
