He brought his spectacles to bear upon me somewhat sharply.
“Don’t you think you are a little unreasonable?” he demanded. “You have curious ideas about individual liberty! Now, we hold that every soul shall be absolutely free,—that is, in its relations to other souls; it shall not be coerced by any other. It is as though souls were stars suspended in space, each moving in its appointed orbit. No one has the right to disturb the poise and equilibrium of another, not even the one nearest it. That is a Caskian idea, by the way; about the only one Elodia is enamored of. These souls, or spheres, are extremely sensitive; and they may, and do, exert a tremendous influence, one upon another,—but without violence.”
“Your meaning is clear,” I said coldly. “My powers of attraction in this case are feeble. Is the club you speak of composed entirely of women?”
“Certainly.”
“Do not the men here have clubs?”
“O, yes; I belong to one, though I do not often attend. I will take you to visit it,—I wonder I had not thought of it before! But those things are disturbing; we scientists like to keep our minds clear, like the lenses of our telescopes.”
“Is Elodia’s club a literary one?” I asked, though I was almost sure it was not.
“O, no; it is for recreation purely, as I said. The same kind of a club, I suppose, that you men have. Of course, they have the current literature, which they skim over and discuss, so as to keep themselves informed about what is going on in the world. It is the only way you can keep up with the times, I think, for no one can read everything. They have games and various diversions. Elodia’s clubhouse is furnished with elegant baths, for women have an extraordinary fondness for bathing. And they have a gymnasium,—you notice what splendid figures most of our women have!—and of course a wine cellar.”
“Severnius!” I cried. “You don’t mean to tell me that these women have wines in their clubhouse?”