"Oh, of course," she replied simply. "I love my husband. But
domestic love--how different!"

"But have you never--domestic love does not always--well--"

She shrugged her shoulders and replied with the same disconcerting
simplicity, "Oh, when you are married you are married. And now that
your books have made me so happy I never find fault with Howard any
more. I know that he cannot be changed and he loves me devotedly in
his fashion. Mrs. McLane is always preaching philosophy and your
books have shown me the way."

"And do you imagine that books will always fill your life? After the
novelty has worn off?"

"Oh, that could never be! Even if you went away and took your books
with you I should get others. I am quite emancipated now."

"This is the first time I ever heard a young and beautiful woman
declare that books were an adequate substitute for life. And one sort
of emancipation is very likely to lead to another."

She drew herself up and all her Puritan forefathers looked from her
candid eyes. "If you mean that I would do the things that a few of
our women do--not many (she was one of the loyal guardians of her
anxious little circle)--if you think--but of course you do not. That
is so completely out of the question that I have never given it
consideration. If my husband should die--and I should feel terribly
if he did--but if he should, while I was still young, I might, of