But I was too selfish to yield my small right to her society,—the right only of a guest in her house,—to these greater claims with absolute sweetness and patience.
“Why does she take all these things upon herself?” I asked of Severnius.
“Because she has a taste for them,” he replied. “Or, as she would say, a need of them. It is an internal hunger. It is her nature to exert herself in these ways.”
“I cannot believe it is her nature; it is no woman’s nature,” I retorted. “It is a habit which she has cultivated until it has got the mastery of her.”
“Perhaps,” returned Severnius, who was never much disposed to argue about his sister’s vagaries—as they seemed to me.
“All this is mannish,” I went on. “There are other things for women to do. Why does she not give her time and attention to the softer graces, to feminine occupations?”
“I see,” he laughed; “you want her to drop these weighty matters and devote herself to amusing us! and you call that ‘feminine.’”
I joined in his laugh ruefully.
“Perhaps I am narrow, and selfish, too,” I admitted; “but she is so charming, she brings so much into our conversations whenever we can entice her to spend a moment with us.”