“You don’t have to lose your self-respect; you only risk—your reason.”
Barbara stared at her. “That’s the very thing I’m afraid of. I’d give anything for peace of mind. How did you know?”
“Oh, it doesn’t call for much astuteness. I don’t suppose there’s a married woman in the world in full command of her wits. You’ve noticed how foolish most of them are. That’s why. It isn’t that they were born foolish. They’ve simply been addled by enforced adaptation to mates of lower intelligence. Oh, I’m not scolding. I’m merely stating a natural, observed, psychological fact. The woman who marries says good-bye to the orderly working of her faculties. For that she may get compensations, with which I don’t intend to find fault. But compensations or no, to a clear-thinking woman like––”
“Like yourself, Aunt Marion.”
“Very well; like myself, if you will; but to a clear-thinking 312 woman it’s as obvious as daylight that her married sisters are partially demented. They may not know it; the partially demented never do. And it’s no good telling them, because they don’t believe you. I’m only saying it to you to warn you in advance. If you part with your reason, it’s something to know that you do it of your own free will.”
Once more Barbara confined herself to the case in hand. “Still, I don’t believe every man is as trying as Rash Allerton.”
“Not in his particular way, perhaps. But if it’s not in one way then it’s in another.”
“Even he wouldn’t be so bad if he could control himself. At the minute when he’s tearing down the house he wants you to tell him that he’s calm.”
“If he didn’t want you to tell him that it would be something equally preposterous. There’s little to choose between men.”
Barbara grew thoughtful. “Still, if people didn’t marry the human race would die out.”