"My father has more sense than my mother," he pronounced. "How women miss it! They drive the nail into the flesh, thinking they are hammering away at insensate stone."
He reached church early.
"Now, if the weather frightens her (and it is a real December tempest), or if that Mrs. Pryor objects to her going out, and I should miss her after all, it will vex me; but, tempest or tornado, hail or ice, she _ought_ to come, and if she has a mind worthy of her eyes and features she _will_ come. She will be here for the chance of seeing me, as I am here for the chance of seeing her. She will want to get a word respecting her confounded sweetheart, as I want to get another flavour of what I think the essence of life--a taste of existence, with the spirit preserved in it, and not evaporated. Adventure is to stagnation what champagne is to flat porter."

"My father has more sense than my mother," he pronounced. "How women miss their aim!"
He reached church early.
"Now, if the weather frightens her, or if that Mrs. Pryor objects to her going out, it will vex me; but, hail or ice, she ought to come. She will be here for the chance of seeing me, as I am here for the chance of seeing her. She will want to get a word about her confounded sweetheart, as I want to get another taste of adventure."
