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Philip laughed. He was exhilarated by the scene, the funny little man in his odd clothes, the panelled room and the Spanish furniture, the English fare: the whole thing had an exquisite incongruity.
“You laugh, my boy, you can’t imagine marrying beneath you. You want a wife who’s an intellectual equal. Your head is crammed full of ideas of comradeship. Stuff and nonsense, my boy! A man doesn’t want to talk politics to his wife, and what do you think I care for Betty’s views upon the Differential Calculus? A man wants a wife who can cook his dinner and look after his children. I’ve tried both and I know. Let’s have the pudding in.”