“But to be unbetrothed at twenty-one or twenty-two,” she continued. “Why, do you not know that at twenty-five a girl—why, she is lost.”
“Lost?” I cried.
“Well, what we call put aside—of no account. She doesn’t go to dances. She stays at home with the old parents. The young sister supersedes her; she goes out all shining and beautiful, and the adored one comes her way, and she is betrothed, and gets presents and the dot and the beautiful wedding, and the home where the house linen is so marvellous and the furniture so good. Then for the rest of her days she is a good housewife, and looks after the comforts of the lord of the house.”
“The lord of the house?” I gasped.
“Her husband. Surely it is her one and only desire to think of his comforts. What is she but second to him? Oh! the chosen wife is happy, and fulfils her mission. But the unfortunate maiden who reaches the age of twenty-five, why, there is nothing for her—nothing!”
The Comtesses pretty checks were flushed with vivid rose; her blue eyes darkened with horror.
“Poor maiden of twenty-five!” I said. “Why, in England you are only supposed to be properly grown-up about then.”
“But surely,” said the Comtesse, glancing at me and shrugging her shoulders—“you surely do not mean to say that at that advanced age marriages take place?”
“Much more than before a girl is twenty-five. But really,” I added, “I don’t want to talk about marriages and dots; I am only a schoolgirl.”
The Comtesse laughed.