“Choose at least some name of higher pretension,” said Anna, laughing. “Why not a Mrs. Van Rensselaer, or a Mrs. Van Cortlandt, or a Mrs. Livingston, or a Mrs. Somebody else, of one of our good old families?”
“Families!—Do you know, child, it is treason to talk of families in this age of anti-rentism. They tell me that the man who makes an estate, may enjoy it, should he happen to know how, and this, though he may have cheated all he ever dealt with, in order to become rich; but, that he who inherits an estate, has no claim. It is his tenants who have the high moral claim to his father’s property.”
“I know nothing of all this, and would rather talk of things I understand.”
“By which you mean wedlock, and its cares! No, my dear, you little understand what matrimony is, or how much humiliation is required of us women to become wives, or you would never think of marrying.”
“I have never told you that I do think of marrying—that is, not much.”
“There spoke your honest nature, which will not permit even an unintended deception. This it was that so much attached me to you as a child; for, though I am not very ingenuous myself, I can admire the quality in another.”
“This admission does not exactly prove the truth of your words, mamma!” said Anna, smiling.
“No matter—let us talk of matrimony. Has John Wilmeter proposed to you, Anna?”
This was a home question; no wonder the young lady started. After a short, musing pause, however, the native candour of Anna Updyke prevailed, and she admitted that he had.
“Thank you for this confidence; but you must go further. Remember, I am your mamma. Is the gentleman accepted?”