"Certainly," I acquiesced. "If we are permitted by public opinion to go to college, to live alone, to travel, to have a profession, to belong to a club, to wear divided skirts—not that I approve of them—to give parties, to read and discuss whatsoever seems good to us, and go to theatres, and even to Monte Carlo, without a masculine escort, then we have most of the privileges—and several others thrown in—for which the girl of twenty or thirty years ago was ready to sell herself to the first suitor who offered himself and the shelter of his name."
"I'm very glad, my dear Carmela, that you are at last becoming so very sensible," she answered approvingly. "Until now you've been far too romantic and too old-fashioned in your ideas. I really think that I shall convert you to my views of life in time—if you don't marry old Keppel."
"Kindly don't mention him again," I protested firmly. "To a certain extent I entirely agree with you regarding the emancipation of woman. A capable woman who has begun a career, and feels certain of advancement in it, is often as shy of entangling herself matrimonially as ambitious young men have ever shown themselves in like circumstances."
"Without doubt. The disadvantages of marriage to a woman with a profession are more obvious than to a man, and it is just the question of maternity, with all its duties and responsibilities, which is occasionally the cause of many women forswearing the privileges of the married state."
"Well, Ulrica," I said, "speaking candidly, would you marry if you had a really good offer?"
"Marry? Certainly not," she answered, with a laugh, as though the idea were perfectly preposterous. "Why should I marry? I've had a host of offers, just as every woman with a little money always has. But why should I renounce my freedom? If I married, my husband would forbid this and forbid that—and you know I couldn't live without indulging in my little pet vices of smoking and gambling."
"Wouldn't your husband's love fill the void?" I queried.
"It would be but a poor substitute, I'm afraid. The most ardent love nowadays cools within six months, and more often even wanes with the honeymoon."
"I've really no patience with you," I said hastily. "You're far too cynical."
She smiled, and then sighed gently. She looked so young in her pale pink peignoir.