“Makes one feel like getting married oneself,” said Tom.
“Yes, doesn’t it? A wedding unsettles me. All the rest of the day I wish I were a bride.”
“Do you?” exclaimed Tom, eagerly.
“Yes, and then the next day I think what a goose I am. Being married means slavery to some man. You don’t have your own way at all.”
“Men never being slaves to their wives,” remarked Tom.
“Men are by nature lordly, overbearing, proud-spirited, self-willed, tyrannical and provoking,” said Berty, sweepingly.
But Tom’s thoughts had been diverted. “Say, Berty, where do those Tomkins girls get money to dress that way? They’re visions in those shining green things.”
“They spend too much of their father’s money on dress,” replied Berty, severely. “Those satins came from Paris. They are an exquisite new shade of green. I forget what you call it.”
“I guess old Tomkins is the slave there,” said Tom; then, to avoid controversy, he went on, hastily, “You look stunning in that white gown.”