That is to say, my wife had never heard of his father and mother at the
time she invited him, though they prove to have been very respectable
people. Indeed, we were all of us struck by the dignified appearance
which his family as a whole presented at the wedding. Alas! I realize
already that when I have got used to the idea that anybody is to have
her, I shall be thoroughly happy in the thought that I have given her
away to such a decent fellow, a man with self-respect and principles, a
man of industry and capacity, and one, too, who is ready to drink his
glass of champagne like the rest of the world--although he does not
smoke. I have let my grudge have free scope, and all I have been able
to rake up against him is that he shakes his head when I offer him a
pipe or a cigar. In my secret soul I am egregiously proud of him
already, and but for my wounded sensibilities I could dance with joy
over the reflection that he is likely to make her perfectly happy. And
yet all this talk of marrying and giving in marriage has broken my
spirit.
"Since it had to be someone," I said by way of consolation to Josephine
when we awoke this morning, "it's extremely fortunate that she did not
fall in love with a dashing soldier, who would carry her off to a
barracks on the frontier of a Sioux reservation, or a swashing sailor,
who would leave her at home while he went on long cruises, or a
splendid-looking creature, with a sonorous voice, who would drink
himself into his grave or else make her miserable by devoting himself
to another woman.
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