I looked at her aghast; did she know what she was saying; did she mean what her words implied?
"You wrong yourself, Elodia," said I; "those are the sentiments, the arguments, of a selfish person, of a mean and cowardly spirit. And you have none of those attributes; you are strong, courageous, generous--"
"You mistake me," she interrupted, "I am entirely selfish; I do not wish to disturb my present agreeable pose. Tell me, what is it that usually prompts people to marry?"
"Well, you are liable to fall in love with my maid--"
"Not after having seen her mistress!" I ejaculated.
"If she happens to possess a face or figure that draws your masculine eye," she went on, the rising color in her cheek responding to my audacious compliment; "though there may be nothing in common between you, socially, intellectually, or spiritually. What would be the result of such a marriage, based upon simple sex-love?"
I had known many such marriages, and was familiar with the results, but I did not answer. We tacitly dropped the subject, and our two minds wandered away as they would, on separate currents.
She was the first to break this second silence.
"I can conceive of a marriage," she said, "which would not become burdensome, any more than our best friendships become burdensome. Beside the attraction on the physical plane--which I believe is very necessary--there should exist all the higher affinities. I should want my husband to be my most delightful companion, able to keep my liking and to command my respect and confidence as I should hope to his. But I fear that is ideal."
"The ideal is only the highest real," I answered, "the ideal is always possible."
"Remotely!" she said with a laugh. "The chances are many against it."
"But even if one were to fall short a little in respect to husband or wife, I have often observed that there are compensations springing out of the relation, in other ways," I returned.
"You mean children? O, yes, that is true, when all goes well. I will tell you," she added, her voice dropping to the tone one instantly recognizes as confidential, "that I am educating several children in some of our best schools, and that I mean to provide for them with sufficient liberality when they come of age. So, you see, I have thrown hostages to fortune and shall probably reap a harvest of gratitude,--in place of filial affection."