“Oh, some of them cling to monogamy and some to fidelity, but is it from belief and real vivifying faith or is it, as Mrs. Gerould says, because they’ve been passed on the ethic? Is it because it’s more convenient to cling to the old fashions in morality and marriage laws? I ask it as a question. Do you know any women who would make a real sacrifice for the traditions of marriage and wifehood? Who hold those states in really reverential regard?”
Matthew was listening attentively.
“I know one woman who would,” he answered, “who would make sacrifices for the old ideal. Who holds marriage in such high regard that she can offer herself on its altar if she has to.”
His hearer looked down the length of the table at Fliss and smiled.
“You say that because you are in love with her,” she answered. “Well, maybe you’re right. But it’s a queer age. I sometimes think we need a new dictionary. My grandchildren—the youngest is ten and extremely sophisticated—talk a different language from mine. It doesn’t matter particularly.”
A queer look had come into Matthew’s eyes as the lady had assumed that his remark was a tribute to his wife.
“I can’t make out whether you’re a feminist or not.”
“Neither can I,” she returned, laughingly.
It was a perfect dinner. For so young a hostess it was marvelously well done. Matthew heard them compliment his wife, saw the elder ladies pet her and the men give her those glances of admiration which she had been used to for years. More than one man told him with unusual enthusiasm of his delightful wife, and it was not the men alone who thought so. And afterwards, as the last motor could be heard speeding away, Fliss turned to her husband.
“I’ve got a lot to do—a lot to learn,” she said, “but I like it.”