their fastnesses. She accepted the rules with which they
played the game of life as valid for them, but never for a
moment thought of regulating her own conduct in accordance
with them. Their moral eccentricities, like their oddities of dress,
their wild theories and paradoxes, were an entertainment which
amused her, but had not the slightest influence on her convictions.

"Is there a Mr. Strickland?" I asked

"Oh yes; he's something in the city. I believe he's a
stockbroker. He's very dull."

"Are they good friends?"

"They adore one another. You'll meet him if you dine there.
But she doesn't often have people to dinner. He's very quiet.
He's not in the least interested in literature or the arts."

"Why do nice women marry dull men?"

"Because intelligent men won't marry nice women."

I could not think of any retort to this, so I asked if Mrs.
Strickland had children.

"Yes; she has a boy and a girl. They're both at school."

The subject was exhausted, and we began to talk of other things.