“You couldn’t possibly do better than marry Evelyn. I know her, Edgar. And I know, as only a woman can know another woman, how genuine she is.”
“But”—Edgar’s eyes had a look of pain that touched her. “I want you, Emmy. I always shall. A man wants the best. And you’re the best—in looks, in brains, in every way. You’d have everything and I’d never bother you. And you can stop this grind and be like other women—that is—I mean—you know—I don’t mean anything against your work—only it is unnatural for a woman like you to have to work for a living.”
Emily felt that she need not and must not take him seriously. She laughed at his embarrassment.
“You don’t understand—and I can’t make you understand. It isn’t that I love work. I like to sit in the sunshine and be waited upon as well as any one. But——”
“And you could sit in the sunshine—or in the shade, Emmy.”
“But—let me finish please. Whatever one gets that’s worth while in this life one has to pay for. The price of freedom—to a woman just the same as a man—is work, hard work. And if it’s natural for a woman to be a helpless for-sale, then it’s the naturalness of so much else that’s nature. And what are we here for except to improve upon nature?”
“Well, I don’t know much about these theories. I hate them—they stand between you and me. And I want you so, Emmy! You’ll be free. You know father and I both will do everything—anything for you and——”
Emily’s cheeks flushed and there was impatience and scorn in her eyes and in the curve of her lips.
“You mean well, Edgar, but you must not talk to me in that way. It makes me feel as if you thought I could be bought—as if you were bidding for me.”
“I don’t care what you call it,” he said sullenly. “I’d rather have you as just a friend, but always near me than—there isn’t any comparison.”