“Strong-minded,” said Clara, finishing the sentence. “I know you were not going to say that, but you meant it. O dear! How different you are from papa. I wonder how you two ever came to marry. Now he would say to me, ‘Be yourself.’ You never said such a thing to me in your life. I am not namby-pamby, and I cannot speak with the affected voice of Louise Kendrick, who is your ideal; and I must say I am glad of it. However, mamma dear, I will try to please you, and if papa don’t inspire me, I shall be inane enough to gratify your taste.”
Dr. Delano came early, and had a tête-à-tête with Clara before his people arrived. He had never seen her neck and arms before, and his expressions of admiration at their exquisite moulding were perhaps intemperate, after the manner of lovers, but altogether delightful to Clara’s ear. He was proud of her, he said, and wanted his father and sister to see her looking as she did then; and certainly they must have been lacking in appreciation, if they could fail to admire a girl so beautiful as Clara was made by her charming toilet, the grace that was incarnate in every movement, and by every feature of her face, enhanced and glorified by the power of Love’s spell.
The evening passed very pleasantly until the subject of the late civil war was mentioned, and then Mrs. Forest fidgeted, expecting every moment some horrid radicalism from the doctor, who would not think like other people! Clara, too, she feared would “talk,” and, according to her creed, not only children, but young ladies, should be seen, not heard.
“Under all possible aspects,” the doctor said, on this occasion, in reply to some opinion of Mr. Delano, “under all possible aspects, war is a stupendous imbecility.”
“Then, sir,” replied Mr. Delano, “you would not justify defensive war.”
Mr. Delano was a retired cotton speculator. He was rather slight in build, with small, keen eyes, set deep and near together; a high, thin, Roman nose, thin lips, teeth of the very best manufacture, his face clean-shaven, and his dress faultless in its elegance.
“No, sir, I should not,” the doctor answered.
“Yet it seems to me that the principle of giving your cloak also, to the rascal who takes your coat, works very ill in practice, at least in these degenerate days.”
“Ah! that may be. I certainly never attempted to carry it into practice. If we have a barbarian people for a neighbor, and they organize an army to destroy us, we must, of course, defend ourselves. We should have the esprit de corps which would rouse men, women, and children even, to help crush the invaders in a single day; but this would not be organized war, as generally understood. Moreover, if we had barbarian enemies, it would be the wiser policy to conquer them by making them our friends; and that is by no means an impractical policy, as has been proved by history. Between civilized nations, this method of settling difficulties, is an insult to the dignity of civilization. In the first place, it never settles anything, any more than the duel does.”
No one seemed ready to defend dueling; and seeing a pause, Clara said, “I think the history of horrid wars might end with this generation, if only women could be inspired with a normal disgust for all kinds of murdering.”