“I dare say. Slaves often feel no want of freedom.”
“I’m not a slave,” said Olive, flushing angrily. “You cannot be in the least acquainted with my husband.”
“Oh, I know your husband very well, an excellent man in many respects, but narrow in others; however, I referred to general slavery, to custom, not to any individual slavery in your case.”
“I don’t think there is any good in destroying customs, unless there is something better to be got in a new custom.”
“Ah yes, no doubt it seems so to you; but there is inestimable gain in the mere protest against tyranny. Why, that’s what we are all here for, to protest against everything and live a life of freedom.”
“And freedom may as well begin here and now, and in its name I will wear long dresses and be called Mrs. Weston, because I prefer the older customs,” said Olive with some archness.
“Yes, you may do as you like, but you will get heartily sick of those skirts, I can tell you.”
Olive remembering sundry pretty dresses she had in her trunk, was privately convinced she would not get sick of them.
“I haven’t seen Madame yet,” she said, “and I feel the greatest curiosity about her. She must be a remarkable woman by all accounts. Does she wear the same sort of dress as you do?”
“No, she doesn’t, and it’s a great pity, for her influence would be very great with the other women. I suppose you’ll see her to-morrow evening. You’ll come to the Academy, won’t you?”