fluttered round vanished, and, cold and awful, there loomed over us the one great topic.
"What do you think of marriage, George?" said my uncle, after a pause, prodding the wart hog suddenly.
"That's your privilege," said I. "Married men don't dare to think of it. Bigamy."
"Privilege! Is it such a headlong wreck of one's ideals as they say?" said my uncle. "Is that dreamland furniture really so unstable in use?"
"Of course," said I, "it's different from what one expects. But it seems to be worse for the other party. At least to judge from the novels they engender in their agony."
"So far as I can see," he proceeded, "what happens is very similar to a thing a scientific chap was explaining to me the other day. There are some little beasts in the sea called ascidians, and they begin life as cheerful little tadpole things, with waggling tails and big expressive eyes.
