“Quarrel with me? Why should you do that?” said Marie quietly.
“Oh, for a hundred reasons, my sweet sister. For one, because it is so long since you and I had a good scold. For another, because it was so underhanded of you to hold back when dear aunties wanted us to marry well.”
“Don’t be foolish, Clo!” said Marie. “Let us talk of something else.”
“Yes, we will by-and-by, my sweet sissy; but it was shabby of you to let me marry my old man, and then take advantage of my being fast to make up to my former beau.”
“Can such talk as this benefit either of us?” said Marie, flushing. “Surely it is beneath your dignity as a wife to speak as you do.”
“Dignity? Pooh! Women who marry as we have done, for money, have no dignity—they have sold it.”
“Clotilde!”
“Well, it’s quite true, and you know it. Trash! As if we either of us ever had any. It was nipped in the bud by our dear aunts. No, my dear Rie, we have no dignity, either of us. Slaves have no such commodity. We are only white slaves, the property of the dreadful old men who took a fancy to us and bought us!”
“For heaven’s sake, Clo, be silent,” cried Marie, who had to fight hard to keep down her agitation. “This is cruel?”
“Well, what if it is? Why should you not feel it as well as I? You hate and despise your husband as much as I do mine, and though you are so quiet and so shy, Rie, you mean to take your revenge; and why not?”