Men and Wives

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“Well, Buttermere, This is a day that is good to live and breathe in, that makes a man feel in his prime. Standing here in front of my house, I feel as young as when I moved into it thirty years ago, in the year eighteen hundred and fifty-nine. What aged man would you take me to be, as I step as it were casually into your view?” Sir Godfrey Haslam stepped, though hardly in this manner, through the window of his dining-room, and stood to face or to pass his butler’s scrutiny. “I’ll wager not fifty-six. But that is what I am. Six-and-fifty the month before last. Well, what would you say, Buttermere?”

“Good-morning, Sir Godfrey,” Buttermere said.

“Three years and ten months under sixty! What some people would call an elderly man. Well, in later middle life would be the general verdict. But I don’t feel anywhere near so far run down my course. I hope every man of that age feels as I do. I hope you do, Buttermere?”

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