“No one can who studies life ever so superficially,” declared Sophy. “Particularly the ordinary matrimonial life. A man selects a woman entirely for selfish purposes—she may be beautiful and he wishes to possess her beauty—or rich, and he wants the use of her money,—or well-connected, and he seeks to push himself through her relations; or a good cook and housekeeper and he wants his appetite well catered for. As for children—well!—sometimes he wants them and more often he doesn’t!—I remember what an awful fuss there was in the house of an unfortunate friend of mine who had twins. Her husband was furious. When he was told of the ‘interesting event’ he used the most unedifying language. ‘Two more mouths to feed!’ he groaned. ‘Good God, what a visitation!’ From the way he went on, you’d have thought that he had had no share at all in the business! He didn’t mind hurting his wife’s feelings or saying hard things to her,—not he! And it’s the same story everywhere you go. A few months of delightful courtship,—then marriage—then incessant routine of housekeeping, illness and child-bearing—and afterwards, when the children grow up, the long dull days of resigned monotony; toothlessness, which is only partially remedied by modern dentistry, and an end of everything vital or pleasurable! Except, of course, unless you kick over the traces and become a ‘fast’ matron with your weather-eye open on all men,—but that kind of woman is always such bad form. Marriage is not worth the trouble it brings,—even children are not unmixed blessings. I’ve never seen any I could not do without!—in fact”—and she laughed—“a bachelor woman with two thousand a year doesn’t want a man to help her to spend it!”
“Quite true,” said Diana, with a slight sigh. “But I haven’t got two thousand a year, or anything a year at all!”
“Never mind!” and Sophy looked wisely confident—“you’ll have all you want and more! Yes!—something tells me you are going to make a great success——”
“Sophy, Sophy! In what?”
“Oh, I don’t know!” and the vivacious little lady jumped up from her chair and shook out her filmy skirts and floating ribbons. “But I feel it! It is one of those ‘waves’—what do you call them?—‘etheric vibrations!’ Yes, that’s it! Don’t you feel those sort of things ever?”
Diana had also risen, and as she stood upright, very still, there was a curious look in her face of expectancy and wonder.
“Yes,” she answered, slowly, “I felt one just now!”
Sophy laughed merrily.
“Of course! I imparted it to you! and you’re going to be a wonderful creature!—I’m sure of it! Your poor brain,—so long atrophied by the domestic considerations of Pa and Ma, is about to expand!—to breathe!—to move!—to act! Yes, Diana!—Think of it! Cinderella shall go to the Prince’s Ball!”
Her bright laughter pealed out again, and Diana laughed too.