"I am a woman with a philosophy," she returned with dignity.

"A philosophy! What the deuce is that?"

"You didn't learn much at Eton and Christchurch."

"I learnt to use my fists and to make love to the women."

"You're a brute!" she exclaimed with most unphilosophic vehemence.

"And that's why you worship the ground I tread on," he rejoined equably.
"And that's why I've always had a good time with the women ever since I
stood six foot in my stockin's when I was sixteen."

Lady Holme looked really indignant. Her face was contorted by a spasm.
She was one of those unfortunate women who are capable of retrospective
jealousy.

"I won't--how dare you speak to me of those women?" she said bitterly.
"You insult me."

"Hang it, there's no one since you, Vi. You know that. And what would you
have thought of a great, hulkin' chap like me who'd never--well, all
right. I'll dry up. But you know well enough you wouldn't have looked at
me."

"I wonder why I ever did."

"No, you don't. I'm just the chap to suit you. You're full of whimsies
and need a sledge-hammer fellow to keep you quiet. It you'd married that