“America, mademoiselle,” said Selden, whose spirit had suddenly lifted its wings within him, “is the land of youth, for youth, about youth. We are young; we permit our young people to tyrannize over us; our literature, our theatre, concerns itself only with their love affairs, which are always innocent and always end in a happy marriage. And in that marriage it is always the woman who dominates. The man is tolerated, because to a marriage a man is necessary; but he has only one function—to provide a pedestal upon which the woman may stand; and but one duty, to worship her all his life. He has promised to do so, and he must keep that promise, no matter how silly and useless he may find her to be. That is the convention, the proper thing, to which all good Americans subscribe.”
“I know! I know!” cried Cicette. “I have seen them—the man following his wife like a footman—a beast of burden.”
“Yes,” said Selden, laughing. “It is only in America the woman walks in front.”
“But there is one thing I cannot understand,” went on Cicette, “that there are so many American women who leave their husbands at home when they come to Europe.”
“Why not?” Selden demanded. “What need has the husband of culture or relaxation? His function is to earn the living.”
“But is it not dangerous? Those deserted husbands—do they not find some one....”
“Some of them do—but most of them just keep on toiling away. The American husband is incredibly docile and incredibly faithful.”
“So I do well to marry an American?”
“Undoubtedly!”
“And he does well to marry a Frenchwoman,” said Madame Ghita, “for, in spite of her gay manner, in spite of her apparent thoughtlessness, she is good and very serious at bottom. She will give herself to her husband utterly, without reservation; she will live only for his career; she will be ceaselessly vigilant for his interests; if he is ill, she will nurse him; if he has bad fortune, she will console him; she will herself prepare the dishes he likes to eat, happy to serve him....”