But her
husband asserted himself within bounds, and she submitted, longing
for the coming of Violet Effingham. She could not write to her father
and beg to be taken away, because her husband would read a sermon to
her on Sunday evening.
To Violet, very shortly after her arrival, she told her whole story.
"This is terrible," said Violet. "This makes me feel that I never
will be married."
"And yet what can a woman become if she remain single? The curse is
to be a woman at all."
"I have always felt so proud of the privileges of my sex," said
Violet.
"I never have found them," said the other; "never. I have tried to
make the best of its weaknesses, and this is what I have come to! I
suppose I ought to have loved some man."
"And did you never love any man?"
"No;--I think I never did,--not as people mean when they speak of
love. I have felt that I would consent to be cut in little pieces for
my brother,--because of my regard for him."
"Ah, that is nothing."
"And I have felt something of the same thing for another,--a longing
for his welfare, a delight to hear him praised, a charm in his
presence,--so strong a feeling for his interest, that were he to go
to wrack and ruin, I too, should, after a fashion, be wracked and
ruined.
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