“No woman is free when she is married,” retorted Jean. “The laws of men do not recognize the individuality of a married woman. I, for instance, am Jean Ranger to-day, but if I should marry to-morrow, I’d be—”
“Nothing but a nonentity named Mrs. Ashton Ashleigh,” interrupted Mary. “Women delight in surrendering their names in marriage to the man they love.”
“You’re right,” cried Jean, her eyes blazing. “I’d surrender to-morrow if Ashton would come to claim his own. But it would be a partnership, and not a one-sided agreement.”
“That’s what every woman thinks when she puts her neck in the noose,” laughed Marjorie; “but when the man comes along who is able to capture her heart, she is ready to make the venture.”
“That’s because the fundamental principle of matrimony is correct,” retorted Jean.
“Dat’s so, honey,” said Susannah. “Women is jist like pigs. When one of ’em burns his nose in a trough o’ hot mash, dey’ll all hurry to ’vestigate an’ git de same sperience.”
“Of course you’ll get some land,” said Jean.
“I’ve done axed de Cap’n ’bout it, an’ he’s looked up de law. He says I can’t take up no lan’ ’cos I’m nothin’ but a niggah. De laws o’ Oregon are ag’in it; so are de laws o’ de gen’ral gov’ment. A free country’s a great blessin’ to women an’ niggahs! It’s a great blessin’ to be bawn in a free country; ain’t it, Geo’die Wah?”
The coon, who had grown and flourished under his six months’ regimen of flapjacks and bacon, shook his bright brown curls and grinned, displaying an even set of polished ivories.