“Love your husband once and for all, my dear,” said her aunt, sententiously.
Ella rose to her feet and crossed over to her aunt's chair and sat on the arm, and kissed Lady Milmo. A spontaneous caress like that was rare with her, and the recipient looked up in pleased surprise. But Ella had grasped her fate in both hands and felt mistress thereof, and all seemed right with the world. She had compelled herself into entire happiness.
“Of course I do—or I shall,” she replied. “Do you think I could marry a man to whom I did not feel I could give all that is in me?”
“It is the fate of women to give,” said Lady Milmo, who was in a moralising mood.
“We must do something to justify our existence,” laughed Ella. “Women can't do much. I used to think differently when I was young. Men do all the real work in the world, but somehow they seem to want something from women. And it's a great thing to help on the big world by giving oneself body and soul to a man.”
“Cook his food and wash his clothes and see that there is a proper supply of Salutaris water when he comes home after a city dinner That was the whole duty of woman in your grandmother's time, child.”
“I think women are very much the same all through the ages,” said Ella. “At least,” she added reflectively, “that's the only way the riddle seems to be solved. A man does, wants, compels. A woman yields—otherwise—why, well—”
She rose, confused at' her half-confession, and re-examined the hat.
“Otherwise why should I be wanting to meet poor dear Howgate in heaven,” finished Lady Milmo, coming to her assistance with a humorous curl of the lip. “Anyhow,” she continued with some irrelevance, “I'm glad you're going to stay in a decent Christian country, where you can wear your pretty frocks.”
“So am I, auntie—now,” replied Ella. “But I didn't think I should be.”