Suddenly, as Adriana watched her, she remembered her cousin’s message, and gave it. Augusta listened to the proposed plan of the new society with patience, but without a shadow of interest; and when Adriana ceased speaking, she waved her hands slightly, and answered:
“You see for yourself. I have my children, and my house, and my good John Van Nostrand to look after. With my cleaning, and my baking, and my sewing, and my cooking, these hands are full. Shall I neglect one duty, which is my own duty, to do another duty I know not who for? No. I will not do that. It is very well for Miss Van Hoosen, who has no duties such as I have, to look after the poor Dutch women and children, and the stranger Dutch who come here and 144 who have no friends. I say it is right for Miss Van Hoosen, and for you also, Adriana, if you are not going to marry yourself to some good man. What for do you not marry yourself?”
“Good men are now scarce, Augusta.”
“It is now, as it ever was, and always will be; good and bad men, and good and bad women, and as many good as bad. In our family, it is so, is it not? Theodore got himself a very good wife, and I have got myself a very good husband.”
“But what of Gertrude?”
“Gertrude does very well. She does not see more faults than she can help. Wives should remember they have eyelids as well as eyes.”
“Is Gertrude’s husband kind to her?”
“Can I know? If Gertrude has picked up a crooked stick, she does not go about telling everybody so.”
“Then there is brother George. He is making money, but you can tell from his letters that he is not happy with his wife.”
“I am not sorry for George,” answered Augusta. “When you were at college, George came here, and he told my John about his wife. He thought she had money, and she thought he had money, and both of them were mistaken; so—as my John said to me—when the rag doll and the stuffed elephant got married, they found each other out. But John and I married for love; and so must you marry, Adriana.”