“Why not?” said I dryly.
She burst into tears. “Oh, I don’t know what to do! Papa, shall I give him the money?—sign over all my income to him and take only what he’ll allow me? And would he come back if I did?”
“He would not,” said I.
“Then—what shall I do? Oh, what slaves we women are! Think of it, papa! He wants to make a slave of me—said he didn’t believe in women gadding about and showing themselves off in costly dresses and causing scandalous talk—said my place was at home—looking after the house and that sort of thing!” She laughed wildly. “Like a low, common servant! And he—he free to carry on with that woman!”
“You might teach him to stay at home, if you set him a good example,” suggested I.
“But I don’t want to stay at home!” cried she. “I didn’t marry for that. I want to enjoy all the privileges of my rank.”
“To be sure,” said I.
“I wasn’t brought up to be like a low, middle-class woman, or a workingman’s wife.”
“No, indeed,” said I. “You are a lady. You’re made, not to be of use in the world, but to enjoy yourself.”
She seemed to find some cause for dissatisfaction in my enthusiastic tone. “Of course,” she said, “I shall do my duty as a member of the high nobility—lead in society and open bazars and visit the poor on our estate and—and all that.”