“You are both right so far as you go,” said Britomarte, earnestly, “but you don’t go far enough. A girl with property is often married only for that property. And if her husband should be a prodigal and squander it, and bring her to want, or if he should be a miser and hoard it, and deprive her of the comforts of life, she has no redress. Therefore, it is well that a woman’s property should be settled upon herself, and that she should be independent of her husband, at least as far as money can make her so. What do you say, my dear?” she inquired, turning to Erminie.
Erminie hesitated, the bright bloom wavered on her cheeks, and then deepened into a vivid blush. She dropped her long-fringed eyelids over her soft eyes, and answered, gently:
“I am glad I am not rich; very glad that I have nothing at all of my own. Now I go to my dear father for everything I want, and it is sweet to receive it from his hands; for he never refuses me anything he can afford to give, and I never ask him for anything he cannot spare.”
And the Lutheran minister’s daughter paused thoughtfully, as if in some tender reminiscence of her absent parent.
“But we are not talking about papas—we are talking about hubs,” exclaimed Elfie, impatiently. “We are cussing and discussing the best means of offense and defense against our natural enemies, meaning our future hubs—poor wretches!”
“I know,” said Erminie, gravely.
Then, turning her soft eyes, that had strange mesmeric power in their steady tenderness, upon the face of Britomarte, she continued:
“And, as I am not rich, as I have nothing at all of my own, no one will ever marry me for anything else but affection. And, as I find it so sweet to depend on my dear father, who loves me, I shall find it very sweet also to depend on another who shall love me—ah! if only half as well as he does!”
“I hope you will remain with your father, my darling. Fathers may be trusted with their daughters—sometimes. The same cannot be said of lovers or husbands,” said Britomarte, earnestly, and laying her hand caressing upon the bright head that leaned against her bosom. “Yes, I hope you will never commit that spiritual suicide of which I spoke.”
Erminie gently lifted her head from her queen’s bosom—every motion of the fair girl was gentleness itself—again she hesitated, and the bloom wavered on her face and settled into an intense blush, as she softly said: