chances as to what the women who might become their wives should
prove to be.

Marian looked with awakening curiosity and interest at the face
before her, yet it was the familiar visage of her father. She had
seen it all her life, but now felt that she had never before seen
it in its true significance--its strong lines, square jaw, and
quiet gray eyes, with their direct, steady gaze. He had come and
gone before her daily, petted her now and then a little, met her
requests in the main good-humoredly, paid her bills, and would
protect her with his life; yet a sort of dull wonder came over her
as she admitted to herself that he was a stranger to her. She knew
little of his work and duty, less of his thoughts, the mental realm
in which the man himself dwelt. What were its landmarks, what its
characteristic features, she could not tell. One may be familiar
with the outlines of a country on a map, yet be ignorant of the
scenery, productions, inhabitants, governing forces, and principles.
Her very father was to her but a man in outline. She knew little of
the thoughts that peopled his brain, of the motives and principles
that controlled his existence, giving it individuality, and even
less of the resulting action with which his busy life abounded.
Although she had crossed the threshold of womanhood, she was still
to him the self-pleasing child that he had provided for since
infancy; and he was, in her view, the man to whom, according to the
law of nature and the family, she was to look for the maintenance
of her young life, with its almost entire separation in thoughts,
pleasures, and interests. She loved him, of course. She had always
loved him, from the time when she had stretched forth her baby hands
to be taken and fondled for a few moments and then relinquished to
others. Practically she had dwelt with others ever since. Now, as